


Feathers, Flames, and Fifty Bucks

by SamDreams



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, First Time, M/M, Nipple Play (Mild), Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rimming, SPN_ReverseBang 2014, Top Dean/Bottom Sam, Top Sam/Bottom Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 20:03:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 31,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3353570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamDreams/pseuds/SamDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam Winchester travel to the town of Buzzard’s Bay, Massachusetts, on the trail of a creature that rips the eyes from its victims before torturing them to death.  As they investigate, they bump into a familiar adversary who complicates their hunt.  Faced with a gruesome case and the looming deadline of Dean’s deal coming due, the brothers finally come to terms with the forbidden feelings they’ve had for each other for years.  </p>
<p>Story is set in Season Three after “Fresh Blood” but before “Dream a Little Dream of Me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue & Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the 2014 SPN Reverse Bang Challenge. This is my very first Reverse Bang entry, and it has been an absolute blast to do! This marks a real milestone for me as a writer, since this is the first fan fiction I’ve ever written that is more than 9,000 words long.
> 
> First and foremost, I’d like to thank the wonderfully talented LightTheSparks for her incredibly inspiring art! Her gorgeous design and the imaginative prompt that accompanied it were my first choice in this challenge, and I count myself very fortunate to have been able to work with such a fantastic, collaborative artist. Please check out her other art at http://lightthesparks.livejournal.com/.
> 
> Secondly, I need to thank my terrific beta readers Rachel and Jax for their invaluable edits and suggestions for the story. Thank you both so much for your support and encouragement, and for giving me some terrific feedback!
> 
> Last but certainly not least, I’d like to thank all the moderators who run this amazing challenge for us every year. Without you, none of us would have this forum to create the beautiful art and amazing stories we enjoy on the site. Thank you for all of your hard work and dedication!
> 
> More notes on the story at the end.
> 
> Note that I do not own _Supernatural_ or the characters of Sam or Dean Winchester. I'm merely borrowing them for fun, non-profit entertainment. :) Thank you so much, Eric Kripke, for blessing us with this show. :)

 

***~*~*~* Prologue *~*~*~***

_Buzzards Bay, Massachusetts_

 

Tom Hanniger pulled into the parking lot of Anchor Self-Storage and flicked his eyes nervously around the area. His was the only car there at this time of night. He killed the engine and climbed out, pulling the collar of his jacket closer around his neck. The breeze coming off the nearby water was brisk, but he didn’t mind. He took a deep breath, grateful to be breathing free air again. He’d spent the last two days behind bars in the Bourne County Correctional Facility. He shook his head at his own stupidity. Why had he thought it was a good idea to tell his ex-wife about the job in the first place? He knew she couldn’t keep a secret. It was just that the whole thing was so insane. He’d stolen his share of loot over the last ten years, but he had to admit, this job was about as crazy as he’d ever encountered. He couldn’t say no. He’d had to see for himself what all the fuss was about. 

He’d been arrested just as he was about to meet up with his employer because his ex had blabbed to her friend, who just happened to be married to a police officer. And just like that, his chance at $15,000 vaporized. 

All that fuss over something that seemed completely worthless. He was still baffled over the prize. What could possibly be so valuable about those items? He never got the chance to ask. His attorney had gotten Tom out on bail, so now he just had to pick up some stashed items from his storage unit so he could skip town. He didn’t want to run into his bitch of an employer when she found out he’d been busted for the robbery. 

Tom had the key in his hand when suddenly a great gust of wind kicked up around him. It rattled the siding on the storage units, crashing like thunder in the stillness of the late evening. The wind grew stronger, too strong, and he found himself fighting to remain upright. He glanced around but saw nobody, nothing else that would explain the sudden storm. 

Lightning split the sky as clouds roiled overhead, blotting out the moonlight. Fumbling with the key, Tom hurried to open the storage unit so he could get inside. He struggled to slide the door open and nearly had it halfway there when the force of the squall lifted him up off the ground and sent him sailing. 

Tom crashed onto the hood of his car. Disoriented, he struggled to draw air into his lungs but couldn’t catch his breath. The fall had knocked the wind out of him. His eyes watered, dust and debris making it impossible for him to see anything. 

Something struck his face with such force that it knocked him off of his car again onto the pavement. For a split second, he didn’t realize what had happened. But then the searing pain washed over him and he howled. He reached up to his eyes to soothe the agony there, only to feel his fingertips sink into empty eye sockets—hot, wet, and sticky. His panicked yell was cut short when something sliced into his abdomen. 

“Where are they?!” screamed an unearthly voice. It boomed through the quiet surroundings, hurting his ears. Tom was too panicked, too shocked, to answer. Another higher, louder shrill shriek cut through the night. With sheer horror, he realized his intestines were being ripped from him. There was an unmistakable sensation of them uncoiling as he writhed, helpless.

“Where are they?!” the menacing voice repeated, but Tom was too delirious and overcome with terror to formulate a thought, much less speak. He was beyond pain then, the shock overwhelming him and numbing his senses. Right before he died, Tom Hanniger heard wings flapping.

 

***~*~*~* Chapter One *~*~*~***

_8:30 a.m. Mac’s Diner. Akron, Ohio_

“Hmm,” Sam murmured, perusing articles on his laptop. 

Taking a bite of bacon, Dean looked across the booth at Sam’s furrowed brow. “You should try this.” He held out the half-eaten slice of bacon. 

“Hiker mauled to death,” Sam repeated a headline, ignoring his brother. 

“Where?” 

“Wyoming.” 

“Well that’s tragic, but how’s that our kinda thing? That probably happens all the time out there.” Dean finished his bacon and lifted a piece of buttered toast to his lips. 

Sam shrugged and gave a half-nod, then returned his focus to the laptop. Dean used Sam’s distraction to his advantage. He bit into his toast and let his eyes roam his brother’s jawline, dragging his gaze downward to admire the muscles in Sam’s neck. He blushed hotly and forced himself to look away. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking such things about his baby brother. The same brother he’d been taking care of his entire life. The one person he’d move Heaven and Hell for, lay down his life for without thinking twice about it. 

Sam shifted, his large foot knocking against Dean’s under the table. He didn’t look up from his laptop and didn’t move his foot away. Their feet just rested against one another comfortably. Dean’s heart wobbled in his chest just a bit at the warmth of Sam’s leg so close to his. He found himself shifting just ever so slightly so that their legs would be flush against one another. Sam still didn’t shift, studying his laptop intently. 

“Hey,” Sam suddenly piped up. Dean was pretty sure there was nothing sexier than Sam’s voice whenever he said “hey” to Dean. Deep, smooth, with just a little grit to it at the same time. It was a different “hey” than anyone else ever got, which made Dean’s insides go all gooey every time he heard it directed at him. 

“Whatcha got?” 

“Buzzards Bay, Massachusetts.”

“That a real place?” 

“Looks like. Get this: Three dead bodies have been discovered in the last week. Two stabbed and the third disemboweled. Similar M.O. on all three corpses.” 

“Possible animal attacks?” 

“Says police are pursuing all leads. They also have witnesses who report strange wind storms at the time of the attacks.” 

Dean nodded. “All right, then. Let’s go check it out.” 

Dean waved at their waitress and motioned for the check while Sam packed up the laptop.


	2. Chapter Two

***~*~*~* Chapter Two *~*~*~***

_6:30 p.m., Buzzards Bay, Massachusetts_

Dean and Sam walked into their room at the Sundown Motel and stopped short in unison, taken aback by the décor. Yellowish wallpaper with a gaudy floral design leapt out at them from all sides, and the brown and orange paisley bedspreads warred with the tri-colored shag carpet. There was a framed print of a bird’s nest with eggs on the wall above a rickety desk, and a thin, lime-green floor lamp standing in the corner. 

“Wow. Seventies on steroids.” 

Sam chuckled at his brother, wrinkling his nose at the cheesy starburst-shaped clock on the wall. “I’m afraid to look in the bathroom.” 

Dean was there already. After a brief inspection, he poked his head back out and said, “Be afraid,” before turning and closing the door. 

“Let’s hope this case doesn’t take too long, then.” He dropped his duffle bag onto the bed nearest the bathroom. Dean had already claimed the one nearest the door, as he always did. 

Out of nowhere, a pang of foreboding stabbed through him. One day, if he couldn’t save Dean, he’d only have to ask for a single bed. He fought back the emotional tidal wave that always accompanied these moments. He tried hard to tamp down the dread, to keep the worry at bay. Day in and day out, every minute that ticked by was cause for greater alarm and desperation. But if this were to be Dean’s last year, he definitely didn’t want it to be any more morose and depressing than it had to be. He tried to remain positive, optimistic. Dean never let Sam see when situations were dire. He always told Sam there was nothing to worry about, not ever. Not as long as Dean was around. Sam knew it was all bullshit, just his brother’s bravado and bluster, but there was still always something about the way Dean said it that made Sam believe him every time, even when he knew better. 

Sam wanted desperately to do the same for Dean this time. To show Dean that he could help him, that he could take care of his big brother just like Dean had always taken care of him. 

Hunting helped to distract Sam, but at the same time it also reminded him that they could be spending their time trying to save Dean instead of trying to save everyone else. Frankly, he couldn’t care less about anyone else right now. The only person he wanted to save was in the bathroom. Farting like an elephant. 

Sam huffed a laugh and shook his head. He’d even miss that, God help him. He swallowed hard and forced himself to focus on unpacking his toiletries. 

“You hungry?” asked Dean when he finally emerged. 

“There’s a seafood place next door, I think.” 

“Sounds good.” 

“Yeah, we need to evacuate the room for a while anyway.” 

“Shut up,” Dean retorted, opening the motel room door and stepping outside. 

“Maybe we should crack a window before we leave?” Sam called out after him. 

“Bite me.” 

Sam grinned and shut the motel door behind him, trotting to catch up with Dean. 

They walked next door to The Seafood Shanty, a little take-out seafood shack. The building was white with blue trim and looked clean enough. It was still daylight out, the warm sunlight keeping the air from being too cold. 

After they’d ordered and retrieved their trays of food from the pick-up window, Sam and Dean settled themselves at a picnic table in the eating area. Nobody else was out there. 

They ate in companionable silence for a little while. Finally, Sam asked, “So where to first tomorrow?” 

“I’m thinking coroner’s office. Take a look at the bodies.” 

“Me, too.” 

Dean smiled then. “Hey, you remember your first dead body?” 

Sam rolled his eyes, but smiled despite himself. “I’ll never forget it.” 

Dean let out what could only be considered an evil giggle at his brother’s discomfort. “Dad made up that bullshit story about you being a high school criminology student doing ride-a-longs, remember? And the coroner was being so helpful, explaining everything in detail.” 

“Sooo helpful,” Sam said, sarcasm evident. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that green, before or since.” 

“Dude, it was a werewolf vic! The guy had a huge hole where his heart used to be. I could see his guts clear down to the spine.” 

Dean laughed again and took another bite of fried shrimp. “It was awesome.” 

“Well maybe if my brother hadn’t brought me spaghetti for lunch right before we went, things would’ve gone better.” Sam picked a cherry tomato out of his salad and threw it at his brother. Dean only snickered as he batted it away. 

“Bitch.”

"Jerk.” 

They were back in the room a short while later, both exhausted from the long drive. They settled on the small sofa and tried to find something good to watch on television. Dean changed channels for an hour, driving Sam crazy with his inability to settle on any particular show. Finally, Sam stood up and moved toward his bed. It was only a few moments before Dean did the same. 

Sam removed his shoes, shirts, and jeans, tossing them on top of his duffle in the corner of the room. He slid between the sheets of his bed and turned onto his side facing Dean’s bed. 

He tried not to stare as Dean undressed but couldn’t help stealing glances. Dean sat on the edge of his bed, bending down to untie his boots, and Sam’s mouth watered at the planes of muscle moving smoothly beneath pale skin. When his brother straightened back up, the lamp light revealed the smattering of freckles across both his bare shoulders. Sam licked his lips, wondering what it would be like to run his tongue over every freckle. 

“Sam?” 

Caught daydreaming, Sam flushed. “Hmm?” 

“Are you ready to hit it?” repeated Dean. 

Sam nodded, blushing even hotter at the unintended double-entendre. 

“Okay then, grab the light, would ya?” 

Sam reached over to turn out the light. He stayed awake long after Dean’s breathing had become deep and even, wanting to savor the sound of it as long as possible.


	3. Chapter Three

 

Dressed in their Fed suits, the boys strode confidently into the coroner’s office at mid-morning the next day. 

Dean flashed his fake FBI badge at the receptionist, waiting a beat while Sam got his identification out as well. “Hello, I’m Agent Turner. This is Agent Bachman. We’re here to see Doctor John Davis.” 

The receptionist, an attractive red-head, looked up at Dean and smiled. Her eyes trailed appreciatively downward and then slowly made their way back up to his face. His grin turned wolfish, and Sam struggled to hold back his eye roll. 

“May I tell him what this is about?” she asked. 

“We’re here about the three murder victims. The latest was Tom Hanniger.” 

“I’ll let him know you’re here,” she said in a sultry voice, glancing back at Dean again over her shoulder before walking through a set of double doors. 

“Buzzards Bay might be a cooler place than the name makes it seem,” said Dean, elbowing Sam knowingly. 

Sam scoffed. “Can we please focus on the case?” 

Dean just chuckled. A few moments later, the receptionist was back and said, “Right this way, Agents.” 

They followed her into the back, where a man with thinning hair who appeared to be in his mid-fifties was pulling a corpse from a refrigerated chamber. “Agents,” he said in a deep, gruff voice. “I understand you want to take a look at Mr. Hanniger here.” He motioned to the corpse, pulling back the sheet so the boys could see the body. 

“Yeah. What can you tell us?” Dean asked, and he and his brother stepped closer to get a better look. 

“I’m still writing my report.” He paused and scratched lightly at his beard. “To be honest, I’m letting this whole thing percolate for a bit longer before filing it.” 

“Why is that?” asked Sam. 

“Well, to be frank, I’ve never seen anything quite like this before. My initial reaction was an animal attack, but now I don’t think so.” 

“Animals don’t claw out eyes?” 

“Normally, no. Not any animals around here anyway. It’s not unusual if the body’s been out in the elements, obviously. Birds and other creatures go for the eyes on corpses that are left outside. But Mr. Hanniger here, well. It’s not a wildcat taking a swipe that just happened to remove his eyes. It’s not like that.” He pointed to the empty eye sockets. “You see, there’s no other damage around the face or head that would make the eye removal incidental. It looks more like the eyes were plucked right out of his head…on purpose.” 

Sam and Dean glanced at each other, then Sam looked back at Davis. “So if this isn’t an animal attack, you’re saying a person did this.” 

“The evidence seems to indicate that, yes. The problem is, we found no trace of any human DNA on any of the victims. With traumatic injuries this extensive, that surprises me. None of the victims has defensive wounds, so I found no DNA under their fingernails or teeth, the usual spots where we sometimes get lucky.” 

He sighed heavily and continued. “I also can’t say what sort of weapon could do it. Human fingers, no matter how strong, would cause a different sort of damage. They would pull the eyes out, tearing the tissue. This injury was caused by some type of blade, but it’s not a straight, knife-like blade. The eyes were clearly sliced out. But I’ve tested all kinds of different blades, all sizes and shapes, and I can’t get one to match up with the sort of curved, serrated slicing weapon that would be needed to do this sort of damage. And also, there’s the force of the impact to consider.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Davis looked at Dean. “Well there are unusual contusions all around the orbital cavities. This was not a surgical procedure. There was a severe, forceful impact involved when the eyes were removed.” 

“What about the rest of the injuries?” Sam asked, motioning to the corpse’s midsection which had been sliced open. 

“It appears to be the work of a blade, but a different one than what did the damage to his eyes. This one appears to be a knife-like blade with no serrations, no curve. There are no claw marks, it’s just one long slice.” 

Dean leaned closer to inspect the injury. “Looks a little empty in there, Doc.” 

Davis nodded. “Another aspect of the death that is definitely not like an animal attack.”

“Why is that?” 

At Sam’s query, the doctor looked up at him. “Because the entrails aren’t missing. They’re in an evidence collection bag stored in Fridge Three over there.” The doctor motioned over his shoulder. 

Sam and Dean let that sink in for a moment. Dean said, “You’re saying this guy was sliced open and his insides were removed but not eaten or taken?” 

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. They were strewn all over the pavement beside the body, but not one part was missing.” 

“So you’re thinking someone went all _Braveheart_ on this guy?” 

“I’d say that’s a safe assumption. The wounds were made pre-mortem, no question.” 

Sam and Dean both winced slightly at the thought. Then Sam asked, “Can you tell if the eyes were removed prior to the intestines?” 

Davis nodded. “Yes, they were. It appears that whoever attacked Mr. Hanniger wanted to disable him before starting…well.” He waved his hand over the gaping hole in Hanniger’s abdomen. 

“What about the other two vics?” Dean looked at the small notebook he held with the victims’ names scribbled on the page. “Trey Lipton and Eric Brady.” 

“Both had similar injuries, except there was less abdominal damage. Their intestines were not removed, but they were stabbed multiple times.” 

“Did both men have their eyes cut out first, same as him?” 

The doctor just nodded. 

“All right. Thanks a lot, Doc. We’ll be in touch.”


	4. Chapter Four

 

A short time later, the boys were at the police station in an office with Detective Wade Forrester, who was in charge of the murder investigations. 

“I gotta say, we don’t get the Feebs in here too often.” 

Sam grinned as he shook the detective’s hand, his dimples out on full display. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Detective. We sure appreciate you taking the time to talk with us about these cases.” 

He sat down on the other side of the desk from Forrester, and Dean sat in a chair next to his brother. Sam continued, “We don’t want to step on any toes. We know you’re working hard on the case and have some leads you’re looking into. We’re here to help in any way we can.” 

Detective Forrester eyed Sam warily for a moment, and then his demeanor visibly changed from defensive to collaborative. “Well I’m happy to hear any opinions you boys have. It’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen. We don’t get too much of this psycho shit around here.” 

Dean suppressed his smile at Sam’s finesse and had the fleeting thought that Sam’s dimples should be registered weapons. _Attaboy, Sammy_.

“We noticed the detail about the eyes being cut out wasn’t in the newspapers,” said Dean. 

“Well, like I said, we don’t have this kind of stuff happen around here that often. We didn’t want to start a panic.” 

“A lot of the local businesses wouldn’t want that sort of bad press, I’m guessing,” added Sam. “Bad for tourism.” 

Forrester nodded. “That’s part of it, too. We’re getting a lot of heat from the Mayor’s office to try and get this wrapped up fast and not cause too much bad publicity. Kind of hard, though. Some reporters are all over this like damned vultures, y’know. Just had one in here not an hour ago asking me all about it.” 

“I understand there were witnesses?” 

Forrester nodded at Dean. “When Eric Brady got killed, he was finishing a shift at Flagship Cinemas over in Wareham. Late at night, not many folks around except for one woman who said she heard a lot of high-pitched screaming.” 

He paused, glancing at Sam and Dean before he added, “She said there was a freak storm. Wind out of nowhere, debris flying all over. Said it was so bad the wind almost knocked her over. Then it stopped just as quick as it started. That’s when she saw Brady’s body and called 9-1-1.” 

“Do the local meteorologists have anything to say about it?” asked Sam. 

Forrester shook his head. “No anomalies that they could find. Clear skies and only the usual breezes coming off the bay that night. Nothing like what the witness described.” Forrester put his elbows on the desk and leaned forward, resting on them. “I’d have chalked the whole thing up to her being drunk or hallucinating, except…” 

“There was another witness,” Dean finished for him. 

“Yep. When Trey Lipton got attacked, same exact thing reported by a different witness. No relation, and the witnesses don’t know each other. He reported the same thing, strange storm kicked up, some crazy shrill screaming, and then complete calm again.” 

“Hmm,” both Sam and Dean said together. 

Detective Forrester only nodded. 

After a moment, Dean asked, “Neither witness saw the attacker?” 

“No. They both said the storm was too strong, too much crap flying around. It was also dark during all three attacks, so visibility wasn’t great.” 

“No security footage at the movie theater?” Sam asked. 

“There was, yes, but Brady was outside the camera’s range, unfortunately. No cameras where Lipton or Hanniger were found.”

"Have you found any connection between the victims yet?” asked Dean. 

“Not yet. Brady and Lipton had no records and weren’t connected to each other. Clean, upstanding citizens. Hanniger was a screw-up, though. He’s got a rap sheet as long as you are tall. Matter of fact, he’d just been released on bail when it happened.” 

“For what crime?” asked Sam.

“Burglary.”

Dean perked up at that. “What’d he steal?” 

“It’s the strangest thing. He broke into Tristan Ross’s place and took an old scroll and some feathers, of all things. No idea what the hell he’d want them for.” 

“Who’s Tristan Ross?” asked Dean. 

“His family helped to build this town. He comes from a long line of family money. He owns a bunch of the businesses around here.” 

“Did Ross say why he had the feathers or the scroll? Or maybe why they might be worth stealing?” 

“No,” Forrester shook his head at Sam’s question. “He was real upset, though. Said they’d been in his family for generations.”

“Was that all Hanniger stole?” Sam scribbled a few notes in his small spiral notebook as he waited for the answer. 

“Yep. Crazy, huh? I wouldn’t risk being busted for that, but then, who can say what makes people do the stuff they do.” 

“Can you give us Ross’s address please?” 

Forrester wrote the address down on a notepad and tore the paper off, handing it to Sam. Sam took it, folding it and stuffing it into the inner pocket of his suit jacket along with his notebook. “Thank you, Detective. What happened to the scroll and feathers that were stolen? Do you still have them as evidence?” 

“Not anymore. Just gave them back to Ross yesterday since Hanniger died. Can’t prosecute a dead man.” 

Detective Forrester gave the boys the information on the victims’ next of kin, and they thanked him and turned to go. Sam stopped suddenly and turned back around. “Detective, do you by chance have the name and phone number of the reporter who came by earlier?” 

“Sure,” Forrester replied, and he pulled a business card from his pocket. “Take it. I won’t be calling her.” 

Sam glanced down at the business card that read: 

_Niki Tromos_

_Investigative Reporter_

_(508) 555-0719_  

“Appreciate your help,” he said to the detective. “We’ll be in touch.” 

Once Sam and Dean were back in the Impala, Dean asked, “Why’d you ask for the reporter’s info?” 

Sam shrugged. “Just in case, I guess. Covering all the bases.” 

“So you want to interview next of kin while I go talk to Ross?” 

“Yeah, but I’ll need a car.” Dean nodded and fired up the engine. “Let’s grab you a rental for the day.” 

Dean dropped Sam off at the rental place and turned around to head over to Tristan Ross’s house.


	5. Chapter Five

When Dean pulled into the winding driveway of the Ross estate, he whistled appreciatively at the enormous house. Trees lined the driveway like he always saw in the movies, and the house had a huge wrap-around porch with columns like it was a grand old Southern plantation home instead of a Massachusetts residence. 

He got out of the Impala and went to the trunk, filling his pockets with his staples: Colt loaded with silver bullets, EMF meter, salt, lighter, small can of accelerant, and flask of holy water. He wasn’t expecting to need any of it, but he felt better being prepared for anything, especially when he and Sam had no idea what they were up against yet. And most especially when he went anywhere without his brother to back him up. 

He took a moment to survey the surroundings. Manicured lawn, crisp white paint on all the trim, updated windows. All the signs of a well-kept home. No signs of security cameras, though, which he found strange given the upscale nature of the property. 

Dean trotted up the front steps and rang the doorbell. No answer. Didn’t Mr. Ross have servants for this gigantic house? He tried knocking. The front door slowly creaked open on its hinges without anyone’s assistance. 

Dean immediately withdrew his gun and eased the door fully open. Why would this door be unlocked and unlatched? “Hello?!” he called out loudly, taking a tentative step into the foyer. “Anybody home?” 

He checked all areas of the foyer and slowly moved to the sitting room to the left. He darted in and checked each corner, holding his gun out and ready to fire as he moved. Nobody.

“Mr. Ross?!” he shouted again to see if he would get any response. Silence.

Dean swept the hall into the kitchen, then the dining room, and then found a room toward the back of the house that appeared to be a library. He carefully moved in and cleared all the corners, inching toward the huge cherry desk in the center of the room. It was large enough for someone to hide underneath it, so he kept his gun aimed and ready as he moved closer. Papers and books littered the floor, so it was obvious something had happened in this room recently. When he reached the other side, his jaw dropped. 

There, sprawled on the floor, was an older man with his eyes cut out and his abdomen shredded. His entrails and organs were piled up in a grisly mountain beside his corpse. Dean fought back his gag reflex and reached for his cell phone to call Detective Forrester. 

While he waited for the police to show up, he checked the entire house for any other victims but found none. He completed an EMF sweep of each room in the mansion. No traces of EMF. He didn’t really suspect witchcraft, but he wanted to rule it out for sure anyway, so he searched for hex bags in each room as well. Nothing. Sighing, he called Sam. 

“Ross is dead,” Dean said gruffly when Sam answered. 

“Damnit. Same M.O.?” 

“Yep. No EMF, no hex bags, no traces of sulfur anywhere. Waiting on Forrester now. How about you? Any luck with the families?” 

“Nothing much yet. Hanniger’s ex-wife did tell me that someone hired him to do the job, but she doesn’t know who it was and didn’t have any way to contact the person.” 

“I’ll ask Forrester when he gets here if he has any leads on who might’ve hired Hanniger.” 

“Meet me at the rental car place in two hours. I should be finished by then.” 

“Will do,” Dean replied, hanging up the phone. He heard the sirens in the distance and knew the police would be there soon.


	6. Chapter Six

 

After Dean picked up Sam, they headed back to the Sundown Motel. 

“Forrester said they have no idea who hired Hanniger yet. And get this: they found a museum donation contract on Ross’s body,” Dean explained to Sam on the way. 

“Donation for what?” 

“Guess.” 

“You’re kidding. The feathers and the scroll?” 

“Yahtzee.” 

“So what does that mean? The items are locked up at the museum now?” 

“Yep.” 

“Shit,” Sam said, sighing heavily. “That makes it a lot harder to get at them.” 

“I figure we can go there tomorrow. I want to get back to the hotel and figure out what the hell we’re dealing with first.” 

“Maybe we can call Bobby and see if he has any ideas.” 

Dean nodded. “That works. I’m freakin’ starving.” 

“There’s a place called T.J.’s Grill and Bar up the street. They might have pie.” 

Grinning, Dean said, “Let’s go.” 

After a double bacon cheeseburger with extra onions and a slice of pecan pie, Dean’s mood was much improved. He lay across the bed in their room, phone in hand and dialing Bobby’s number. 

“Dean.” It was a statement. 

“Hey, Bobby. Sam and I are up in Massachusetts. We got a real weird one.” 

“Let’s hear it.” 

Dean explained all about the victims’ injuries and the fact they hadn’t found any EMF, hex bags, or signs of sulfur at the Ross crime scene. He also told Bobby about the freak windstorms being reported. 

“Let me do some digging and I’ll call you back.” 

“Thanks, Bobby.”

Dean hung up and sighed. “He’s checking into it.” 

“You think it could be a Wendigo?” asked Sam, who was scrolling through search results on his laptop trying to find anything that sounded remotely promising. 

“Too suburban, I think,” Dean answered. “Also I wouldn’t think it’d be killing outright without stashing them away as food. And the torture thing would be new for a Wendigo.” 

“Yeah, you’re right.” 

“So no vengeful spirit or ghost. No witch. No demon, apparently, since I didn’t see or smell any sulfur at Ross’s house.” 

“Not a vamp either, I think. Not their M.O. Also not a werewolf since the hearts weren’t missing.” 

“Agreed. Shape-shifter?” 

“No sign of shed skin anywhere. But maybe. We’ve seen them torture people before.” 

“Still wouldn’t explain the windstorms, though.” 

“True. Damnit, what the hell is this thing?” 

Dean didn’t answer. Hell if he knew. “I’m gonna take a shower.” 

Sam continued his research while Dean showered, and then Sam took a turn under the hot spray. When he was finished, he sat back down at the table and continued working on his laptop until it was time to sleep. 

“C’mon, Poindexter,” Dean said, ruffling Sam’s hair. “Time for bed.” 

Sam started to say that he wasn’t tired, but then he realized he was. He closed his laptop. Undressing as he moved to his bed, he crawled under the covers wearing boxer-briefs. 

Dean undressed down to his boxer-briefs as well and turned out the light. Soon both boys were asleep.

 

Sam woke with a start. He tensed and looked around the room, assessing any signs of danger. It was still dark, but he had no idea how long he’d been asleep. Finding no immediate cause for alarm, he relaxed ever so slightly until he heard Dean murmuring, “No, no…” Then he let out what sounded like a sob. 

Sam jumped out of bed and rushed over to his brother. “Dean?” he whispered. Gently, he reached out and shook Dean’s shoulder to wake him. 

“Wha?” Dean jolted awake. “Sammy?” 

“Yeah, it’s me. You were having a nightmare.” 

Dean took a steadying breath. He had been having a nightmare, and his heart was still pounding from it. He reached up and touched his cheeks with shaking fingers, shocked to find them wet from tears. He blushed, even though it was dark and he was fairly sure Sam couldn’t tell he’d been crying. 

“You okay? Need me to get you anything?” asked Sam, his voice still barely above a whisper. 

Clearing his throat, Dean rolled onto his back and looked up at his little brother. “No, it’s okay.” 

The light from the street lamps outside filtered through the flimsy motel window curtain and Sam could just make out the glint of wetness on Dean’s cheeks. That, coupled with the sob he’d heard earlier, told Sam that the nightmare had been truly terrible. 

Sam sat on the edge of Dean’s mattress and rested a hand very lightly on his brother’s chest. “Want to talk about it?” 

Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly to calm himself further. “Not really,” he whispered. 

The dream had been so vivid that Dean’s heart hammered again just thinking about it. Finding Sam lying on the ground, his beautiful kaleidoscope eyes carved from his face, his insides ripped and scattered around his dead body. He shuddered and pushed the horror deep down again, willing his mind to think happier thoughts. 

Sam felt Dean’s heartbeat, too, beneath his fingers. “It was a rough day. Pretty gruesome. It’d be normal to have nightmares after that.” 

“Yeah.” 

“So that’s what it was about then?” Sam pressed, and to soften the question he very lightly rubbed Dean’s chest. 

Dean closed his eyes. Normally he’d bite Sam’s head off at pressing him for details, but he was still shaken from the nightmare. Sam’s presence was reassuring and helped calm him. He didn’t want to talk about it, but he also didn’t want Sam to stop rubbing his chest like that. The heat from his brother’s hand warmed his skin and it tingled in response.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I can’t, Sammy,” he answered in a voice so soft Sam almost couldn’t hear it. 

“Okay,” replied Sam in a tone equally soft. But instead of moving back into his own bed, Sam stretched out beside Dean, adjusting the covers over both of them. 

“Um…what are you doin’?” 

“Sleeping. Shh.” 

Sam settled against Dean, his arm draped across his brother’s stomach and his head resting comfortably on Dean’s chest. He waited nervously to see if Dean would kick him out of bed. 

When he felt Dean’s hand in his hair, Sam smiled and sighed contentedly. They both fell into a dreamless sleep and didn’t wake again until morning.


	7. Chapter Seven

 

 

Dean and Sam arrived at the museum right when it opened the following morning. As they entered the lobby, they spotted the employee directory plaque on the wall which told them where to find the curator’s office. 

Dean pushed open a door tagged with professional block lettering that read “Clay Miller, Curator” and stopped short when he saw a woman already sitting in one of the chairs of the reception area. She was young, curvy in all the right places, and had thick, blonde hair that fell in waves across her shoulders. She looked up at him and grinned. “Well…good morning.” 

Dean moved closer and smiled. “Good morning to you, too,” he said in a voice that Sam recognized as his pick-up standard. 

The woman stood up and Sam noticed she was wearing a business suit. He only had to wonder who she was for a moment before she held out her hand to Dean and said, “Niki Tromos. I’m a freelance reporter.” 

Dean took the proffered hand and shook it. He noted with pleasure that she gave him a firm grip and not the fish-flop handshakes that so many people gave these days. Point in her favor. “Agent Turner, FBI. This is my partner, Agent Bachman.” 

Sam shook her hand and nodded in greeting. _So this is Niki Tromos_ , he thought. Here she was, going through all the interview touch points that Sam and Dean themselves were pursuing. It piqued his curiosity. The fact that Dean was flirting with her didn’t help. Giving her a quick once-over, he noted that her suit looked expensive, as did her shoulder bag. Her nails were polished a bright red and looked professionally manicured, and her shoes matched the suit perfectly. He knew he was no expert, but he’d been with Jessica long enough to learn a few things. 

Niki gave Sam an appreciative look and then turned her attention back to Dean. “Impressive,” she replied with a warm smile. “So tell me, what brings the FBI to the Bourne Museum?” 

Dean gave her his best aww-shucks boy-next-door smile and answered, “I wish we were at liberty to say, but I’m afraid we can’t.” 

“What a shame. We don’t get high-caliber law enforcement like yourselves here in our small town very often.” 

“What brings you out here today?” he asked. 

Niki flipped her hair slightly and said in a low voice, “Why, the murders of course.” 

Dean raised an eyebrow. Why would a reporter be here about the murders? Just how much did she know about what happened with Hanniger and the theft?  “Is that the sort of reporting you do?” 

“I do all kinds of things,” she replied, and licked her lips. 

Dean watched as the tip of her tongue traced along her full lower lip and then disappeared back into her mouth again. He adjusted his tie and cleared his throat. Sam glanced over at his brother and then flicked his gaze back to Niki with her luxurious hair and perfect manicure. He fought to keep the scowl off his face. He didn’t like her one bit, and part of him couldn’t understand why he had such a negative reaction to her. But a deeper, darker part of him understood exactly why he wanted her gone. 

Before Dean could respond to her innuendo, Niki asked him, “Do you think you might have to stay in town for a few days to work on your case?” 

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but Sam tersely replied, “We’ll be wrapping it up soon, I’m sure.” 

Dean gave his brother a surprised look and then turned his attention back to Niki. “My partner’s right; we probably won’t be here long.” 

“What a shame. I would’ve enjoyed showing you some sights.” Her seductive smile left no question as to what she’d like to show Dean. 

Just then, the door to the curator’s office opened and Clay Miller emerged. “Ms. Tromos, I apologize for keeping you waiting. I’ll be happy to—“ 

“Excuse me, Dr. Miller,” Sam interrupted, showing the man his FBI credentials. “I’m Agent Bachman. This is Agent Turner. We need just a few moments of your time.” 

“FBI?” repeated Miller, his brow furrowed in concern. “Um, well. Of course. Ms. Tromos, please forgive me, I’ll try to be back with you as soon as possible.” 

Sam gave her a curt nod as he followed Clay Miller into his office. Dean followed Sam and winked at Niki as he passed her. 

Once they were all inside and the door was closed, Miller motioned the boys to sit. “I must admit, I’m surprised to find the FBI at my door this morning.” 

Dean noticed Miller’s crisp business suit and trimmed fingernails that looked like they’d been buffed recently. He was an older gentleman, probably about sixty, and had thick, white hair. He peered through his wire-rimmed eyeglasses expectantly. 

“We’re investigating the recent murders in town. We believe there might be some connection to a recent donation you received from Tristan Ross.” 

Miller’s eyebrows winged up. “Mr. Ross’s donation?” he repeated. 

Dean nodded. “He gave you the items yesterday morning, I believe. We found the donation contract at the crime scene.” 

“Crime scene? What crime scene? I’m sorry, I don’t follow.” 

Sam cleared his throat and said in a softer tone, “Dr. Miller, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Mr. Ross was killed yesterday afternoon.” 

“Oh my God,” replied Miller, sitting back in his chair. “Such a nice man. I’m so sorry to hear this.” 

Dean asked, “Had Mr. Ross donated items to your museum before?” 

It was a few moments before Miller collected himself and responded. He shook his head as if clearing it. “Uh, not items, no. He was a generous supporter, though. Made many monetary donations over the years to help fund exhibits.” 

“Can you confirm what items he donated?” 

“Three feathers and a scroll.” 

“Detective Forrester mentioned to us that the feathers and scroll had been in the Ross family for a very long time. I’m curious why Mr. Ross would suddenly donate them to your museum. Did he say anything about it?” 

Miller looked at Dean and held out his hands with a half-shrug. “Well, he did mention that he thought we could keep them safer and more secure here. I guess the robbery really shook him up.” 

“Did Mr. Ross explain why these items are so valuable?” Sam asked, pulling out his small spiral notebook and a pen. 

“Well, yes. They are purportedly ancient Greek artifacts. The feathers allegedly belonged to the three harpies that attacked King Phineus before Calais and Zetes chased them away.” 

When Miller looked as if he didn’t plan to elaborate, Dean leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “I’m a little rusty on my Greek mythology. Can you spell it out for us in more detail?” 

“Oh, certainly,” Miller answered with a smile. “Legend has it that King Phineus insulted Zeus in some way, so the god sent the three harpies to torment the king. Calais and Zetes were guests of the king and told him they would rid him of the harpies. There are several versions of the story, but basically Calais and Zetes chased the harpies away from King Phineus until the goddess Isis stopped the hunters and told them she would take care of the harpies herself.” 

“So these feathers are supposed to be the actual feathers of a harpy?” Sam asked, taking all the information down in his notebook. 

“Well that’s the allegation. Of course, harpies are mythical creatures. Still, we will have our Acquisitions Committee review the items for authenticity. If they prove to be as ancient as Mr. Ross claimed, we can still display them with our Mythology exhibit in a few months.” 

“So what does the scroll have to do with all this?” Dean asked. 

“Another interesting detail,” Miller answered. “Mr. Ross said that the scroll contains a magic spell for banishing harpies into some sort of prison for monsters.” 

Sam and Dean glanced at each other with eyebrows raised, and Miller continued: “Supposedly, a person would need the harpy feathers to cast this spell.” 

When the boys didn’t say anything, Miller laughed nervously. “Well of course the whole thing is preposterous. But we want our Acquisitions Committee to authenticate the age and contents of the scroll. Even though we know this is only a myth, it would be a fun story for the exhibit as long as the items are legitimately Greek and appear to be from the right time period.” 

Sam sat back in his chair, brow furrowed in thought. Then: “Dr. Miller, how could this scroll possibly be from ancient Greece? Wouldn’t this be written on papyrus or something?” 

Miller grinned at Sam, impressed. “Absolutely correct, Agent. All stories and documents back then would’ve been written on papyrus.” 

“But I thought most ancient writings like that have been corrupted by humidity or mold if they were outside areas with a very dry climate, like Egypt.” 

At this, Dean turned to look at his brother with complete surprise. Sam saw the look out of the corner of his eye but ignored it and focused on Miller as he responded, “Right again. Funny you should say that, because I told Mr. Ross that very thing. And he told me legend has it that Isis had taken the scroll for safekeeping. So even though it was Greek in origin, it was supposedly stored in Egypt for quite some time before being moved to Europe, and then to America. Once it was moved out of Egypt, measures were taken to keep the document dry and stable. Of course, this is all hearsay from Mr. Ross until the committee experts have a chance to take a look.” 

“Speaking of taking a look, we’ll need to see these items as soon as possible,” Dean told him. 

“I’m afraid I’ve kept Ms. Tromos waiting far too long as it is, but I can have our Assistant Curator, Maxwell Morgan, show them to you if that’s all right.” 

“That’d be great,” Sam assured him, and the boys stood up. 

“Let me call him and have him meet you out in the reception area.” 

Dean and Sam exited Miller’s office to find Niki Tromos still sitting in the waiting area, tapping her foot impatiently. 

“I’m sorry we made you wait,” Dean said to her, putting on a charming grin. Sam turned his back to both of them and rolled his eyes. 

Standing, Niki smiled at him and adjusted her shoulder bag. “I understand. Official FBI business and all that.” 

“Ms. Tromos?” Miller said from his doorway. “Won’t you please come in?” 

Niki gave Dean a final smile and went into Clay Miller’s office. 

While the boys waited for Morgan to arrive, Dean grinned widely at Sam and said, “Papyrus? Corruption by humidity? Damn, Sheldon, maybe you should just authenticate that shit yourself.” 

Sam shook his head dismissively, but he could feel the heat in his cheeks. He didn’t have time to come up with a witty response before the outer door opened and Maxwell Morgan entered the reception area. 

Morgan was slightly shorter than Dean, lean with black hair and brown eyes that looked both of them up and down before finally extending his hand to Dean first. “I’m Maxwell Morgan, Assistant Curator here at Bourne Museum.” 

“Agent Turner,” Dean said, shaking Morgan’s hand. 

“Agent Bachman.” Sam shook Morgan’s hand when he offered it to him. 

“Pleasure to meet you both. Clay tells me you’d like to inspect the items from the Ross donation?” 

“Yes,” answered Sam. 

“Follow me.” 

Morgan led them downstairs to a large vault. After quickly entering the combination, the heavy door swung open and they all walked inside. 

“The Acquisitions Committee will be inspecting these items tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, Dr. Miller told us.” 

“I’ll need you both to put on gloves for the examination.” 

Sam and Dean both worked the gloves over their fingers as Morgan retrieved the items from their locked compartment. He brought the first container to a table in the center of the vault and opened it. 

Inside, there were three feathers. Dean had been expecting them to look identical, but he was surprised when he saw that one was black, one was a reddish brown, and one was white with brown and black flecks. 

Dean pointed to the container and threw a questioning look at Morgan. When Morgan nodded, Dean gingerly picked up the auburn feather. It wasn’t like a peacock feather or downy. It was more like a quill feather in shape and texture, but smaller. 

Sam pulled out the black feather and inspected it as well. The feathers all looked like they’d only just been plucked yesterday. “These don’t seem like they’re centuries old,” he commented. 

“No, they don’t. But then, they were encased in moonstone for a very long time.” 

“Moonstone?” Dean and Sam repeated at the same time, both clearly surprised by this new information. 

Morgan nodded. “Mr. Ross said that the thief broke the moonstone into tiny bits to remove the feathers from it. He was devastated.” 

“Any significance of moonstone related to the harpy legend?” asked Sam, replacing the feather into the container. 

“Not that I know of. He didn’t mention anything about it when he brought them in.” 

“We need to see the scroll,” said Dean, putting his feather back into the box.  Sam followed suit and gently placed his feather back as well. 

“Certainly. Though I’d appreciate it if you would let me do the actual physical handling of the document. You may look at it closely, but please don’t touch it. It must be handled with extreme care.” 

Dean bristled at the condescending tone, but Sam just nodded. “That’s fine.” 

Morgan replaced the feathers into their locked compartment and retrieved the scroll. He donned gloves and set about removing and unrolling the document so that Sam and Dean could get a closer look. 

“I’ll have to show this to you in sections because it’s very long, and we don’t have the ability to unroll it completely without jeopardizing its safety,” he explained, and he unrolled a portion of the scroll. 

Sam inspected it closely. The writing in some parts was illegible, and pieces of the scroll were worn out or missing, but what he could make out appeared to be written in Greek. He pulled out his cell phone and took pictures without flash. Checking his display, he was satisfied that the quality was still good enough to allow someone to read the script. 

He continued snapping pictures as Morgan unrolled different sections of the document until he had captured the whole thing in pictures. 

The boys removed their gloves and tossed them in a nearby trash can. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Morgan. We appreciate it.” 

Morgan shook Sam’s hand. “My pleasure.” Then he shook Dean’s hand as well and escorted them back to the main lobby of the museum.


	8. Chapter Eight

 

 

Bela Talbot took a seat on one of the benches outside the Bourne Museum. She tucked her cell phone in between her cheek and shoulder as she fastened her handbag. 

“I realize that,” she said into the phone. The man on the other end was irate, and she was doing her best to soothe his temper. 

“It’s a setback, yes. But I’m working on a solution, don’t worry. Our deal is still on. I’ll contact you when I have everything.” 

She hung up and stood again, making her way up the stairs into the museum lobby. Contemplating her best approach, she perused the employee plaque displayed on the wall. She blanched. Assistant Curator Maxwell Morgan? Shit. She quickly turned and made her exit, not wanting to risk running into the man. 

She went back to the bench again, which was tucked off to the side toward surrounding hedges and afforded her a bit of privacy from the main entrance traffic. Maxwell Morgan, of all the people. She sighed. Her former partner, lover, and victim of her scheming would hardly welcome her with open arms. Worse still, he would most certainly take any chance he could get to blow any cover she might use. How on earth would she ever get inside there to get the feathers and the scroll without being able to lie her way in? 

Her concentration was broken by familiar voice. “That dude needs to get the stick removed from his ass.” 

Bela’s head jerked up and she watched as Sam and Dean Winchester walked right by her as they left the museum. She smiled. Her luck had turned for the better. 

“Whatever are the Winchesters doing at a museum? Looking for some culture, boys?” she asked, stepping onto the sidewalk just behind them.

Dean whirled in surprise. “Bela? What the hell are you doing here?” 

“I’m here to see the museum, of course.” 

Dean stared at her with narrowed eyes. “Uh huh. I’ll bet.” 

“The bigger question is why hunters are here. Is there something scary I should know about before I go inside?” 

“The scariest thing is right in front of us,” quipped Dean. “What are you up to?” 

Bela smiled. “Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about.” 

“Somehow I doubt that,” he replied. 

“I’m just here for a little Greek history.” 

Sam stiffened. This would be trouble. “What sort of history?” he asked. 

“Oh, you know,” she waved her hand nonchalantly. “Mythology and the like. I hear they have some interesting artifacts here.” 

“I think that exhibit doesn’t start for a few months,” said Dean. 

“Did Max give you the schedule, or are you just an expert on exhibits now?” 

“How’d you know we saw Morgan?” 

“I didn’t, till now.” 

Dean cursed under his breath and turned to go, tugging the sleeve of Sam’s shirt so he would follow.

Bela called after them, “Did you see the feathers?” 

That stopped them both again and they turned. Sam asked, “What feathers?” 

“Oh, please, boys, let’s not pretend. I know you’re here about the feathers and the scroll.” 

Dean and Sam exchanged glances. Dean said, “And just how do you know anything about them?” 

Smiling at them again, Bela answered, “Because I hired Hanniger to steal them.” 

“Son of a bitch. We should’ve known. Well, you sure know how to pick ‘em.” 

She shrugged. “I can’t help it that he got nicked and then managed to get himself killed.” 

“Maybe you need a better screening process for hiring your scumbags.” 

“I think we could help each other out here.” 

“Help you?” Sam asked, his tone incredulous. “Lady, your greed has gotten four people killed already.” 

“Oh, come now, Sam. How was I to know a harpy was would escape? It was supposed to be a very simple theft from a low-risk target.” 

“Wait a minute,” Dean said suddenly, finally letting her earlier comment sink in. “How do you know Max Morgan?” 

Bela glanced over her shoulder at the museum entrance, and then smiled at Dean. “Let’s just say we have something of a history and leave it at that.” 

Sam studied her for a minute, then he smiled. “You screwed him over, didn’t you? You don’t want him to know you’re here. You can’t lie your way in,” he surmised. 

She cast him an irritated look. “No, I can’t. But I need those items.” 

“We’re not letting you anywhere near them,” Dean told her. “No way. Tell your buyer to pound sand.” 

“Bye, Bela,” Sam said, and he nudged Dean. Both boys turned and began walking toward the car again. 

“Wait! I have information that can help you.” 

“We don’t need your help,” Dean called back to her, not breaking his stride. 

She didn’t say anything else. As she watched them walk away, she dug in her purse for her cell phone again and placed a call. 

“It’s me,” she announced into the receiver. “I need your help with a very rare item.” 

She spoke to her contact for several minutes. “There’s no way to mail it, obviously. How fast can you get here? I’m in Massachusetts.” She paused, listening. “Excellent. Drive _carefully_. I’ll see you then.” 

She grinned as she dropped her phone into her handbag and walked back to her car.


	9. Chapter Nine

 

 

Sam and Dean climbed into the Impala and shut the doors, sitting there for several moments in mutual silence. 

“A harpy,” Sam finally said in a soft voice filled with amazement. 

“Seems so.” 

“How the hell are we supposed to kill a freakin’ harpy?” 

“No clue. But I know I ain’t tryin’ to solve that mystery on an empty stomach.” 

“Yeah, let’s eat. I’ll call Bobby on the way and tell him.” 

The boys pulled into The Lobster Pot several minutes later and climbed out of the Impala. 

“Come on, we have to try some seafood while we’re up in the northeast. You can’t live on burgers every day.” 

“It’s been working for me so far.” 

“Well, I want lobster.” 

“Damn, you’re an expensive date.” 

“I’m so worth it.” 

“Freakin’ lobster,” grumbled Dean as he opened the door for his brother. “You’d better be puttin’ out later.” 

Sam chuckled and backhanded Dean’s arm as he walked by and entered the restaurant. 

Once they were seated and had their starter courses, they were quiet for a bit while they ate. Finally, Dean said, “We need to get those things out of the museum.” 

Sam nodded. “They weren’t needed as evidence for the robbery investigation, but I’m thinking we can tell Miller we need them as evidence in the murder case.” 

“That works.” 

“I hate to leave them there overnight, but they should be safe in the vault until tomorrow. I want to get back to the hotel and see if we can find a way to kill this thing.” Sam stabbed another bite of salad onto his fork. 

Nodding, Dean forked another fried scallop into his mouth. He glanced up at Sam and smiled at the tiny smudge of Ranch dressing at the corner of his mouth. Without thinking, he reached across the table and wiped it off with his thumb. 

Sam stopped chewing and looked at Dean for a split second before turning his attention back to his salad. A crimson blush lit up his face and spread all the way down his neck as he scooted pieces of lettuce and tomato around the plate with his fork. 

Dean watched the blush suffuse his brother’s face and felt his own cheeks heat in response. He wasn’t sure what had come over him to make him do that. He just knew he wanted to touch Sam again, so he picked up his glass and took a sip of water to keep his hand busy. 

He’d been fighting it for years. Years. His resistance was wearing down. Part of him thought it was probably due to his demon deal coming due at the end of the year. Why should he bother repressing urges if his ticket’s about to get punched? Still, he couldn’t decide what would be worse: Sam knowing Dean had more than brotherly feelings for him and not reciprocating, or Dean dying without ever telling his little brother how he felt about him. 

The waitress interrupted Dean’s musings when she brought Sam’s lobster and Dean’s Captain’s Platter to the table.

“Damn, that does look good,” Dean said when he saw the two-pound lobster laid out on the plate. 

“Want a bite?” 

“Nah, you enjoy it.” 

They ate in silence for a while before Dean finally said, “Hey, remember that summer in Austin, Texas, when Dad found us that place near the lake?” 

“Yeah, I loved that place. Got to go swimming every day.” 

“I could hardly get you off that rope swing.” 

Sam chuckled. “I loved that thing. I wonder if it’s still there.” 

“We should drive down there and see after we’re done here.” 

Sam gave a half-shrug and nodded. He had loved that summer. He and Dean had been able to stay in one place for all of July and August. Dean was nineteen, so he was old enough to be in charge of Sam, who had just turned fifteen. Sam fondly recalled the lazy days sprawled under the sun on the shore of the lake. It was the first summer that his attraction to Dean had become a serious problem. Watching Dean in swimming trunks, his long, lean body golden brown from the Texas sun, his hair so sun-streaked that it was almost white-blond in spots. And those damned ever-present freckles multiplying like Tribbles with every passing day. He’d spent hours jacking off in the bathroom every chance he got. His teenaged hormones had boiled inside him until he wanted to explode, Dean revving them up to the point his dick was raw when he fell asleep some nights. 

“What’re you thinkin’ about so hard? I can practically hear the wheels grinding.” 

Sam breathed out a soft chuckle. “Freckles,” he said without thinking. The moment the word left his mouth, his eyes widened and he blushed hotly. 

Dean’s heart skipped a beat. “Freckles?”

“Um, yeah, just…I was remembering how you were out in the sun so much that you were covered in them.” He was making it worse, he knew, so he tried to make it more nonchalant. “You complained about them all summer. Such a pain in my ass.” 

Chuckling, Dean said, “I hated them. Still do.” 

 _I think they’re adorable_ , Sam thought, but he took another bite of lobster to keep from blurting it out. 

“And we both know who the bigger pain in the ass was. You should’ve just slept in the bathroom to save time.” 

Sam’s mouth dropped open. “I was not in there _that_ much!” 

“You weren’t fooling anyone.” 

“Oh, shut up.” Sam forked another bite of lobster and studied his plate. 

“It was Brandi Bishop, wasn’t it?”

“What?” 

“She’s the one who had you locked in the bathroom spanking it all summer. Brandi-with-an-I who always hung around you, wanting you to notice her.” 

Sam’s brow furrowed as he tried to remember who Dean was talking about. “I have no idea who that is.” 

“You are so full of shit,” Dean said with a soft laugh, shaking his head. 

“I’m telling you, I don’t remember any Brandi Bishop.” He truly didn’t. There had been a lot of kids around the lake that summer, and he hadn’t really cared about spending time with any of them. He’d only wanted to spend every minute with his big brother, splashing and chasing, swimming, wrestling, catching lightning bugs, drinking beers they shouldn’t drink, watching crap re-runs on TV, or just lying together on a blanket under the stars not saying a word. 

Dean’s eyebrows went up. “Brunette, curvy, and had a rack that no kid should have at fifteen. How do you not remember that?” 

Sam shrugged. Pointing at Dean with his fork, he asked, “The real question is, why do _you_ remember it so well?” 

Dean ignored that. He would never forget Brandi-with-an-I and how she practically threw herself at Sam all summer. Dean had watched with narrowed eyes as she touched Sam’s arm or giggled at him, silently willing her to fall of the face of the Earth. It made him unreasonably happy to hear that Sam had no recollection of her. “Then what the hell were you doing in the bathroom so much?” 

Sam tried in vain to stop the blush from seeping into his cheeks again. “I was fifteen, dude. That’s what guys do.” 

“I swear I thought about taking you to the doctor at one point.” 

“You did not.” 

Dean chuckled. “I really did. I mean, I had my share of ‘me’ time when I was that age, but man, you took the gold medal.” 

“Oh, eat me,” Sam said and laughed. “Maybe I should take you to the doctor for nymphomania.” 

Dean flashed him a grin and waggled his eyebrows. “If that’s what it is, I don’t want the cure.” 

“You probably need a cure for—“ 

“You boys ready for some dessert?” their waitress interrupted Sam as she stopped by the table. 

“No, thanks, just the check please.” 

“Sure thing, Sugar,” she replied with a smile, winking at Sam as she left. 

“Y’know, you wouldn’t have to spank it if you’d grow a pair and ask her for her number.” 

“Dude, we’re on a case.” 

“And?” 

“And I’m not interested.” 

Dean sat back and looked at him for a moment. “You could have any woman you wanted, you know.” 

Sam laughed, an uncomfortable heat stinging his neck. “Thanks, Coach.”

“I’m serious. You never let yourself have any fun.” 

“I think my track record speaks for itself.” 

Dean frowned. Sam had said it lightly, but he knew deep down that Sam probably really believed he was cursed with relationships. He was considering the best response when their waitress came back and dropped off the bill. 

The boys drove back to the motel in silence. Once they were inside, Sam turned on his laptop and started searching for more information on harpies. 

“Maybe we can find someone who can translate the Greek from the scroll for us,” Dean said as he stretched out on his bed. 

“Yeah, that’d be good.” 

Sam was silent for about an hour. Then: “I found the story Miller told us about the harpies and King Phineus. And here’s something else. They’re supposed to be as fast as lightning. Harpies were also believed to snatch souls and take them to Tartarus.” 

“Who’s Tartarus?” 

“Not who. What. It’s the Hell of Greek Mythology. And here, one other site says harpies tortured the souls.” 

“I guess that explains why she’s torturing her vics.” 

“I don’t know. She didn’t torture Lipton or Brady. Just killed them outright. Looks like she only tortured Hanniger and Ross.” 

“She wants her feathers back.” 

“Yeah. But if Isis threw the harpy into some kind of prison for monsters, how the hell did she get out? And why now?” 

Dean sighed and ran his fingers through his short hair. “How the hell are we gonna kill something that’s as fast as lightning and carves your eyes out without any warning?” 

“Not without warning,” Sam corrected him. “The windstorm is the warning.” 

“Yeah but it won’t do us any good if she’s that fast.” 

Sam thought about it. Then: “Goggles.” 

“What?” 

“Maybe we should get some goggles, like safety goggles.” 

“She’ll rip those to shreds!” 

“They aren’t blade-proof, but if she punches and hits hard plastic, it could mean the difference between stitches and blindness.” 

“Did you find anything on how to kill it?” 

“Not yet. But there’s bad news. According to the lore, no known blade can pierce their skin.” 

“Terrific.” Dean stood up and went to the bathroom. “I’m gonna grab a shower while you keep looking.” 

Sam didn’t answer, just kept pecking at the keys of his laptop. 

It was a few hours later when Sam finally gave up. “I need a break. I’m grabbing a shower.” 

He took his time and let the hot water relax his muscles. After toweling dry and throwing on a clean pair of boxer-briefs, Sam emerged from the bathroom to find the room dark. He silently walked to his bed and sat down on the edge of it, looking across at his brother who was lying under the covers of his own bed. Dean’s back was to him, and he could hear his even breathing, but Sam was pretty sure he wasn’t asleep yet. 

Sam really, really wanted to sleep with Dean again. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept that soundly. But tonight there wasn’t a reason to do it, nothing to explain the compulsion to snuggle against his brother. He couldn’t think of a legitimate excuse, something he could say to Dean that might convince Dean to let him share a bed again. Besides, it wasn’t right. He knew deep down the reason he really wanted to do it, and it wasn’t just for a peaceful sleep. He sighed softly and was just about to lie down when Dean reached behind his back and pulled up the covers in a silent invitation. 

Sam didn’t hesitate. He stood up and moved to Dean’s bed, carefully stretching out behind him. He readjusted the sheet and blanket and wrapped his arm around Dean’s waist. Pressing his face into his brother’s neck, Sam drifted into a sound sleep. 

They didn’t move until morning.


	10. Chapter Ten

 

Dean slowly came awake. He was cocooned in blankets, heat all along his back. He realized Sam was still there, spooned against his body, his long arm draped across Dean’s stomach. Dean felt the warmth of Sam’s breath on his neck as his little brother slept on. He didn’t want to move and wake him, wished for a moment that they could just stay like this forever. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, realizing with disappointment that his bladder probably wouldn’t allow him to stay there for too much longer. But then Sam shifted, stretched out his long legs, and arched into Dean just a little bit. His morning erection pressed enticingly into Dean’s backside, and Dean’s pulse rocketed. His own hard dick jumped in response, and he only barely caught the moan before it escaped him. 

Sam pulled him even closer then, nuzzling his face against Dean’s shoulder, and Dean wondered if he was still asleep. 

“Mornin’,” Sam murmured, his voice so soft and muffled by Dean’s skin that it took Dean a moment to register it. 

Dean grunted in response. Sam didn’t move, so Dean decided not to move either just to see what his brother would do. 

Sam lay there, sleep-sated and groggy for several minutes. He was warm and comfortable, except for his cock being iron-hard and far too interested in his brother’s muscular body crushed up against it. He opened his eyes, looking at the back of Dean’s neck. It took a physical effort not to press soft kisses against it. Freckles scattered along Dean’s shoulders, beckoning Sam’s mouth to taste them. He closed his eyes again and breathed deeply to calm himself, but that didn’t help. He was too close to Dean’s warmth, and his delicious scent overwhelmed him. He pressed his face into Dean’s hair and sighed. 

Dean ached to roll over and kiss the breath out of his brother right then. It took everything in him to restrain himself. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to lie completely still so he could just enjoy the feel of his brother snuggled against him for as long as possible. 

They lay together like that for several more minutes before Sam ran his fingertips lightly over Dean’s chest. Dean’s stomach flipped several times at Sam’s touch, wanting to press himself into it, but he stayed completely still. Sam continued his stroking, but it wasn’t idle touching, Dean realized. He was looking for something. 

When Sam’s fingers closed over the metal of his amulet, Dean smiled. Sam just held it for a few seconds, and then started turning and twisting it in his fingers, just idly playing with it. But as he did, his fingers brushed Dean’s skin, heating it mercilessly with each stroke. Dean’s nipples pebbled and goosebumps skittered across his skin as Sam’s fingers worked. 

Sam felt Dean’s tiny shiver and watched the goosebumps appear across his skin as Sam’s fingers played with the amulet. When he repositioned his arm to keep toying with the necklace, he felt Dean’s nipple beneath it, peaked and hard. After only a moment’s hesitation, Sam dropped the amulet and moved his fingertips to the hard nipple, rubbing it in lazy circles. 

Dean’s breathing hitched. Sam felt his brother’s heartbeat quicken, and he pressed himself closer. Pinching very lightly, his fingertips squeezed the hard bud and Dean shivered in response. Sam lost his breath for a moment, not sure what to do. He didn’t want to break the spell, didn’t want this to end. But he wanted so much more, too. So much more. He moved his hand, splayed it out across Dean’s chest, gently rubbing and stroking it until he found the other nipple. It was just as hard, just as tempting. He gave it a soft pinch and rolled it between his fingers. 

Dean let out a soft gasp. He tried to hold it back but couldn’t. He’d dreamt of this moment too long and it was overwhelming him. This wasn’t the right time, he knew. His bladder was forcing him to think unsexy thoughts, and they were on a case. He knew they shouldn’t do this right now. It would complicate things too much when they had to focus on work. He had to stop it, but he didn’t want Sam to think he didn’t like it. 

Slowly he reached his arm back and found Sam’s hair, burying his fingers in the soft locks, stroking it with affection. “I wish I didn’t have to get up, but nature calls,” he said, his voice hoarse with sleep. 

“Mm,” Sam murmured in acknowledgment, pulling his arm away. 

Dean sat up slightly and turned to look down at Sam. His sable hair was deliciously sleep-tousled. Dean wondered if he’d keep growing it out. He hoped so. Today Sam’s eyes looked almost blue in the bright morning light of the motel room. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against Sam’s forehead, and then scooted out of bed and made his way to the bathroom. 

Sam watched him go, admiring the shape of Dean’s ass and the way it plumped against the cotton of his underwear so perfectly. He smiled to himself and snuggled under the covers, waiting for Dean to shower so he could take his turn. 

Sam was sitting at the laptop when Dean came out of the bathroom wearing only a towel, his skin still dewy. Sam’s mouth went dry at the sight. He caught a whiff of the hotel’s ginger-rosemary soap and it made his cock plump up all over again. 

Dean dug around in his duffle for clean clothes as Sam watched. Finally, Sam pulled himself together and cleared his throat. “I found something,” he said, his voice sounding strange to his own ears. 

“Yeah? What?” Dean dropped the towel and picked up a clean pair of boxer-briefs. 

Sam’s mouth fell open. He’d seen Dean naked more times than he could count. He’d dreamt of it even more than that. But there was something about this time, something about this day, that made the sight of his brother’s dick short-circuit his brain and overload his senses. 

Dean pulled on his underwear and fished out a pair of jeans. He was getting them buttoned before he realized that Sam hadn’t answered him. “Sam?” 

“Uh…yeah, I’ll…” Sam stood up and walked quickly to the bathroom. “I’ll tell you later.” 

Dean frowned. “You okay?” he called out so that Sam would hear him through the closed bathroom door. 

“Yeah, fine.” 

“I’ll go pick up some breakfast.” He pulled on one of his favorite Led Zeppelin tee shirts. 

“Good, yeah. Thanks.”

Dean heard the shower start as he pulled on his shoes. He finished dressing and grabbed his keys. 

A half-hour later, Dean was moaning over a bite of pancake. “God, this is good.” 

“You two wanna be alone?” 

“C’mon, Sammy. You need to live a little more. Your egg-white omelet ain’t exactly porn material.” 

Sam shook his head but said nothing. He finished his last bite of omelet. “So…earlier I found a possible way to kill a harpy.” 

“Great. Let’s hear it.” 

“Greek Fire.” 

Dean paused in mid-chew, staring at his brother. “Come again?” 

“You heard me.”

Dean finished chewing and sat back in his chair. “I thought that stuff wasn’t even real.” 

Sam shrugged. “Nobody has the recipe for it, but there are all sorts of accounts of it being used in battles.” 

“Even if it did exist, where would we ever get our hands on something like that?” 

They were both silent for a minute. Then Sam had a thought that made him wince. “Crap.” 

“What?” 

“Bela.” 

“Crap.” 

“She’s here. She wants the feathers and scroll. Maybe she’ll help.” 

“First off, she’s a conniving bitch who only cares about herself. Second, we just pissed her off yesterday, so why the hell would she help us?” 

Sam shrugged. “Maybe we can make her think we’ll turn over the feathers and scroll once the harpy is dead.” 

“She’s not stupid.” 

“No, but she is greedy. Maybe just greedy enough,” Sam pointed out.

Dean sighed. Bela. Christ. He rubbed his face and threw up his hands. “Worth a shot, I guess. This shit probably isn’t even real anyway.” 

Sam handed Dean the phone. “Why do I have to call her?” Dean asked. 

“She likes you better.” 

“I think ‘like’ is the wrong word.” 

“She wants to fuck you. Better?” 

Dean blushed, remembering Bela’s “angry sex” suggestion during one of their previous encounters. He yanked the phone from Sam’s hand and muttered, “Does not,” as he dialed her number. 

“Totally does,” Sam said with a grin, and watched with amusement as Dean turned redder. 

“Shut up.” 

“You called to tell me that, did you?” came the voice on the other end of the phone. 

“Oh, uh, sorry.” 

“Dean. This is a surprise,” she told him. He could hear the victorious smile in her voice, and it almost made him hang up the phone. 

He sighed. “Sam and I have a lead on how to kill a harpy.” 

“Good for you.” 

“Greek Fire.” 

There was silence on the other end of the line. Dean glanced up at Sam and waited. “Bela?” 

“I’m here.” 

“Well?” 

“Well what, Dean?”

He gritted his teeth and clenched his fist. Taking a calming breath, he said, “Do you happen to know where we might find any?” 

“Yes.” 

“Just like that?” 

“I’m good at what I do, Dean.” 

He paused, squinting in suspicion. “Wait a minute. You knew it all along, didn’t you?” When she didn’t answer, he snapped, “Well thanks for the heads up!” 

“It’s not my job to babysit you and your brother.” 

“God, you are such a—“ 

“Bela, hey, it’s Sam,” he said after grabbing the phone away from Dean. 

“Hello, Sam.” 

“Listen, we could really use your help with this. Maybe we can work out some kind of arrangement.” 

“I’m happy to help.” 

“Why is that?” asked Sam, immediately on guard. 

“I still feel bad about the whole Gordon thing. And maybe I have a little soft spot for you and your brother.” 

“You shot me. You call that a soft spot?” 

Bela chuckled. “Still a drama queen, I see. There’s a restaurant called T.J.’s Grill and Bar not far from the museum. Do you know it?” 

“We know it.” 

“Meet me there tomorrow at noon. I should have it by then.” 

“All right, see you then,” he said, and started to hang up when her voice stopped him. 

“Oh, there’s one other thing.” 

“What?” he asked, bracing himself for bad news. 

“It’s all well and good to have a weapon to kill a harpy, but it will do you absolutely no good unless you slow her down enough to use it.” 

He hadn’t thought of that, but Bela was right. “Any suggestions?” 

“I’m sure there must be a spell out there somewhere that would do it. I’ll see what I can find.” 

“All right,” he answered, and then begrudgingly added, “Thanks,” and hung up. 

Turning to Dean, he told him, “We’re meeting her tomorrow at noon at T.J.’s. She says she’ll have it by then.” 

“That’s…awesome.” He frowned. “Too awesome. What’s the catch?” 

“Nothing. She said she still felt bad about ratting us out to Gordon.”

“I don’t buy that for one second." 

“Me either. But nevermind that for now. She also brought up a good point about the harpy’s speed. We can’t throw Greek Fire on it if it’s moving at the speed of light.” 

“Damnit.” 

“She suggested we use a spell to slow it down.” 

“She knows one?” 

“No, but she said she’d look for one. Maybe we should call Bobby. I’m not sure I’d trust any spell Bela gives us anyway.” 

“Oh, but you’ll trust Greek Fire?” 

Shrugging, Sam said with a heavy sigh, “Desperate times, man.” 

Dean shook his head in frustration. “You ain’t kiddin’. Working with Bela Freakin’ Talbot. Shit.”


	11. Chapter Eleven

 

 

Before he could place the call to Bobby, Sam’s phone rang. He looked at the Caller I.D. and his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Dr. Miller?” 

“Agent Bachman, I’m so glad I got you. The museum was vandalized yesterday.” 

“Vandalized? How?” 

“Someone threw a brick into my office with a note on it that read ‘Give them back or die,’ and there are scratches all over the outside doors and walls.” 

“Was anything stolen?” 

“No, we’ve taken a detailed inventory and everything is still here.”

“Did you call the local authorities?” 

“Yes, but I thought you should know. It just seems very strange that this would happen right after those murders. We’ve never had any vandalism at the museum in the last twenty years I’ve worked here.” 

“We’ll be over shortly.” 

The boys didn’t bother getting into their Fed gear. They hurried out into the Impala and headed over to the museum. 

On the way, Dean asked, “A brick through a window doesn’t sound much like a monster.” 

Sam nodded. “I know. But the claw marks on the doors sounds like one. There was a note on the brick that said, ‘Give them back or die.’” 

“Sounds like our harpy friend is a little pissed off and knows where the feathers are.” 

“Yep. At least we know how to draw her out.” 

“Yeah, we just gotta get the feathers and scroll out of there first.” 

Sam was thoughtful for a few moments. “Don’t you think it’s weird she couldn’t get in? She broke the window but couldn’t get inside?” 

“Very.” 

Dean’s phone rang. Eyes rolling, he answered with a terse, “What?” 

“Hello to you, too. Keep it up and I won’t help you,” Bela replied. 

“What do you want?” he asked, attempting a more civil tone. 

“I just had a session with the talking board. The spirits told me something interesting. The museum was vandalized by your harpy.” 

“You’re too late. We’re on our way there now.” 

“Do you also know why the harpy couldn’t get inside?” 

It pained Dean beyond description that he couldn’t say ‘yes’ to the question. He sighed. “No, why don’t you tell us?” 

“There was heavy spell work around the museum to ward her off.” 

“Spell work? By who?” 

“The spirits didn’t say, but I think I know.” 

Dean was quiet, waiting for her to continue. When she didn’t, he spat, “Do you need me to beg or something?” 

She chuckled. “Maybe later. I think Max Morgan is behind it.” 

“Why do you think that?” 

“We have a history, remember? He’s just as much of an expert in occult objects as I am, and on top of that…” 

“He’s a freakin’ witch?” 

“Let’s just say he’s been known to dabble in the arts. So watch your back.” 

“Why would he put up a spell to keep the harpy out? How does he even know about it?” 

“You have to ask?” 

Dean understood then. “He’s known about this the entire time?” 

“Very good.” 

“So we can assume we have competition for the feathers and scroll, then.” 

“I’d say you’ll be lucky if he hasn’t taken them already.” 

“Might’ve been nice to know this a lot sooner.” Dean’s fingers gripped the steering wheel until the blood left them. 

“If you’ll recall, I did try to make conversation yesterday. You weren’t interested.” 

“You’d better be there tomorrow, Bela.” 

“Or what?” 

Dean didn’t answer. He just hung up and hurled his phone behind him against the back seat. “Damnit!” 

“What’d she say?” 

Dean filled Sam in on the conversation during the rest of the trip. Once there, they got out and hurried inside to Clay Miller’s office. He opened his door immediately when they knocked. 

“I’m glad you’re here.” He motioned them inside. Sam noticed the window was boarded up. 

“Did the police take the brick and the note?” he asked. 

Miller nodded, and Sam asked, “Are the feathers and scroll still in the vault?” 

“Yes. The Committee met this morning and inspected them, then we put them back in the vault.” 

“What was the verdict?” asked Dean. 

“Disappointing,” Miller said with a sigh, propping his hip against his desk and crossing his arms. “No evidence of radiocarbons at all in the feathers.” 

“What does that mean exactly?” Dean inquired as he took a seat. Sam sat beside him. 

“Every living thing has some amount of radiocarbons. It’s how carbon dating works. If these feathers had belonged to a living, breathing creature, we would know how old they are by measuring radiocarbons. But there was no trace. It’s as if they are synthetic, even though our experts couldn’t figure out what sort of synthetic materials were used. They had never seen anything like it.” 

“What about the scroll?” Sam asked. 

“The scroll is clearly ancient. We confirmed it, and there are interesting stories written on it, accounts of harpies attacking villages and so forth. But, for various political reasons amongst our staff with which I will not bore you, we decided not to include it in the exhibit after all. We’ll be returning the items to the Ross estate.” 

“Actually, Dr. Miller, I’m afraid we’re going to have to take the items into custody as evidence in the murders,” Dean told him. 

“Evidence of what?” he asked, genuinely perplexed. “You think these things are related somehow?” 

“We believe so,” answered Sam. “We need your help, though, to ensure the evidence stays safely intact. Would you be able to provide us a sealed container for the feathers and scroll?” 

“Certainly, as long as you can return it when you finish with it.” 

“Absolutely,” Sam assured him. “Thank you.” 

“Mind if we take a look outside at the damage?” asked Dean. 

Miller motioned toward the door with his hand. “Help yourselves. I’ll have the feathers and scroll packed up for you.” 

“Dr. Miller,” Sam said in a low conspiratorial tone as he stood, “It would be really helpful if you would take care of the items yourself. We’re trying to keep these details from as many people as possible to assist with our investigation; and, of course, we trust you to handle the items with proper respect.” 

“Of course, yes. I’ll be happy to do it.” 

“We’ll meet you in the lobby in a few minutes, then,” said Dean, and both he and Sam exited the office. 

“Jesus,” Sam breathed a few minutes later when they were outside inspecting the damage on the front doors. The gouges were deep, and the thick, ornate oak doors had been shredded in several places. 

“Still think safety goggles will work?” 

“Got any better ideas?” 

Dean sighed. “No.” 

Sam snapped a few pictures of the damage and then paused, an idea forming. “Wait! I do. Helmets.” 

“Helmets?” 

“Hell yeah. Motorcycle helmets. They’re built to withstand a collision.” 

“They’ll limit our vision,” Dean pointed out, but Sam could tell he liked the idea. 

“Better than no vision.” 

“Touché.” 

“Let’s get the stuff and get out of here.” 

They went back inside and met Miller in the lobby. He handed the boys a long, sealed acrylic tube. “Air tight,” he assured them. “The feathers and scroll are inside.” 

Sam tucked the tube into his large inside jacket pocket and zipped it up. 

Max Morgan walked up at that moment with a smile that was clearly forced. “Agents. I see you’re taking the Ross items.” 

Sam smiled tightly back at him. “Yes. We appreciate your assistance with the investigation.” It took effort for Sam to school his voice into a pleasant one. 

“I’ll have to notify the Ross family.” 

Miller turned to Morgan and said in a clipped tone, “I’m already taking care of that, Max. You needn’t worry.” 

Max bristled but said nothing. Sam surmised that one of the “political reasons” for not using the scroll in the exhibit was standing in front of him now. It’d be a lot easier to steal the items from the Ross family than from the museum. 

“Well, Agents, let me walk you to your car. I’m on my way out anyway,” said Miller, and they all left the museum. 

The men walked slowly toward the parking lot. “Thanks again for all your help,” Sam said to Miller. 

“It’s my pleasure. We haven’t had quite this much excitement around here in a very long time. Frankly, I’ll be glad when things quiet down again.” 

“How long has Morgan worked here?” asked Sam when they stepped off the curb. 

Miller was contemplating his answer when the wind suddenly swept up around them, almost like a mini-tornado. Sam and Dean instantly grabbed Miller’s arms and yelled, “Run!” at the same time. 

Miller turned to run back toward the museum. Sam and Dean had their hands up around their faces. They tried to run right behind Miller to give him some cover, but the wind was so powerful that it pushed them backwards toward the parking lot. At the same time, the gusts pushed Miller forward and further away from Dean and Sam. 

Sam could barely make out Miller’s figure ahead of him, and then grass and dust flew into his eyes and blocked his vision entirely. He heard Dean’s yell of surprise, and his vision cleared long enough to see his brother thrown several feet into the air. 

“Dean!” he shouted, trying to run to help. Dean somersaulted through the air and landed with a thud on the grass, his long body rolling to a painful stop against a metal light post. 

Sam heard Dean’s curse over the howling wind. Before he could gain his footing against the powerful gale, the same force lifted Sam into the air and he went sailing, landing in the hedges next to the sidewalk and only narrowly missing a bench. The sky was black, the wind so fierce that he couldn’t stand back up. His abdomen was on fire, and when he touched it, his fingers came away bloody. 

Then he heard the agonized scream. The harpy had found another victim. Sam crawled to the sidewalk and got a glimpse of a body sprawled out on the concrete. Through his watery, stinging eyes, Sam saw that Miller had his arms up over his face. Terrible shrieks rent the air and Sam covered his ears. Then he heard a booming female voice demand, “Where are they?!” 

Miller wailed in agony, clutching his face. “I don’t know!” he screamed. Sam knew even without being able to see clearly that the curator’s eyes were gone. 

By this time, Dean had crawled up beside Sam. He withdrew his Colt, knowing it probably wouldn’t work but desperate to try anything. He wiped the wetness from his eyes and squinted hard against the raging storm, not wanting to accidentally shoot Miller by mistake. He took careful aim and fired three rounds: two head shots and one at her chest. No effect. She didn’t even turn to look at him.

Dean’s eyes widened as much as they could with the wind whipping around him. He’d never seen anything like it. She wasn’t even fazed, didn’t even seem to feel it. It was as if the bullets bounced right off. 

He was awestruck by her appearance. He’d not been expecting anything like it. She was…attractive. Her long, red hair didn’t seem to be affected by the harsh winds, and instead just lay against her shoulders in gentle curls. Her face was beautiful even in its fury, her eyes round and her lips full and red. Her skin looked human, and all areas he could see were smooth and unblemished. Her arms had wings attached, with feathers that were a burnished copper.  Something in Dean's panicked brain managed to register that her feathers were the same color as the one he'd examined earlier. At the end of each of her arms there were long, sharp talons that were a bronze color. Her torso was naked.  Her chest was bare, her breasts pale, round, and full. She was curvaceous, with long, shapely legs that ended in…bird’s feet. Curved, bronze talons on bird’s feet. 

Dean shook himself from his shock and moved again, crawling beside Sam as they moved together toward the harpy. They watched in horror as her taloned fingers sank sickeningly into Miller’s abdomen. With another shrill shriek, she yanked his entrails out, clutching the bloody pulp in her clawed hands before dropping it beside his body. Sam and Dean both growled in anger and frustration. 

And just like that, she vanished. The wind stopped immediately. The sun emerged from behind the clouds as though the storm had never happened. 

Sam and Dean rushed over to Miller’s body, but it was too late. 

“Damnit,” Dean said, scratching his fingers through his hair. As he did, Sam noticed the movement left red streaks behind. 

“Dean,” he said urgently, immediately running his hands over Dean’s body, looking for the source of the blood. 

“I’m okay, Sammy. She just got me on my back.” 

Sam turned him around and saw the slices in Dean’s jacket. He lifted it up and inspected the cuts. They were deep but not critical. “I’ll clean them up when we get back.” 

“What about you?” asked Dean, turning back around to look Sam up and down. He gingerly touched the scratches on Sam’s cheek. 

Sam pointed to his stomach. When Dean moved to lift his shirt, Sam stopped him. “I’m fine.” 

“I’m taking a closer look when we get back to the room.” 

Sam nodded. It would do no good to argue. “Let’s call Forrester.” He sighed heavily, glancing at Miller’s body. Wincing, he said in a harsh whisper, “Goddamnit.”


	12. Chapter Twelve

 

By the time the boys finished giving their statements and being patched up by paramedics, it was mid-afternoon. 

“I need food.” 

“Let’s go back to the room and order in,” Sam suggested. 

The boys went back to their room, both quiet. Sam had a slight limp, Dean noticed, as he walked to the dresser and put the acrylic tube in a drawer there. 

“Maybe I should take another look at those cuts,” Dean suggested. 

“I’m okay. Paramedics took care of everything.” 

Dean cast a worried glance at his brother but didn’t argue. 

“What about you?” Sam asked. “Is your back hurting?” 

Dean shook his head. “Nothing too bad. They patched me up pretty good.” 

Sam only nodded. 

“Pizza?” 

Sam nodded again as he closed the dresser drawer. 

Sam made the call for pizza while Dean called Bobby and filled him in on everything that had happened. 

“We need a spell to slow that bitch down. She’s wicked fast.” 

“Actually I might have a spell that would work,” Bobby told Dean. “Let me check and I’ll call you back.” 

The pizza arrived an hour later and the boys settled themselves on the small loveseat in front of the television, setting the pizza box on the small table in front of them. Dean handed Sam an open beer bottle and they clinked their bottles lightly before each taking a swig. 

They ate in silence, Dean occasionally changing channels trying to find anything watchable. They found nothing but annoying infomercials or cooking shows, until finally they came across a re-run of _CSI: Miami_. “Oh, hell no,” Dean griped, and tried the channel rotation again. 

After a couple hours of fruitless searching through the television channels, Dean gave up and tossed the remote onto the coffee table. Sam got up to throw the empty beer bottles and pizza box in the trash. When he sat back down, he settled himself right next to Dean, snuggled up against his heat. If Dean seemed surprised, he didn’t let on. Sam handed him a new beer, and then turned off the television. 

“So bullets don’t do jack shit either,” Dean said as he took a pull of the beer. 

“Yeah, no bullets and no blades. Terrific.” 

They sat in silence for a while longer before Sam finally said, “I can’t figure out why the harpy didn’t come after us today.” 

“What are you talking about? She clocked us pretty good.” 

“No, not really. She just wanted us out of the way. She was focused on Miller.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

Sam could tell from Dean’s tone that Dean was angry with himself for allowing the harpy to kill Miller. Sam couldn’t blame him, since he was fighting the same guilt and frustration himself. 

“It just doesn’t seem right. All this time, she’s been hunting down people who had her feathers, or have them. It’s like she can sense them or something. But today she didn’t seem to know I had them on me.” 

Dean thought about that for a minute. “Airtight container.” 

“That’s it,” he said, agreeing with Dean’s assumption. “They were in the tube. She couldn’t smell them, or…feel them, or whatever she does.” 

“That’s reassuring, since they’re sitting five feet away right now.” 

A thought popped into Sam’s mind then, something he hadn’t considered before. “Maybe if they were encased in moonstone like Morgan said, that’s why the harpy couldn’t find them before now. Maybe she could only track them after the moonstone got broken.” 

“That would make sense.” 

They were quiet for a while longer, sipping slowly on beer. The heat from Sam’s body seeped through Dean’s clothes, against his skin, and his cock fattened up at their closeness. He looked over when Sam rested his head back against the sofa cushion, exposing his long neck and closing his eyes. Dean curled his fingers into a fist to keep himself from reaching out to touch his throat. 

“I can’t get it out of my head,” whispered Sam. 

Dean’s adrenalin shot through him so fast it nearly made him dizzy. “What?” he asked in a hushed voice, wondering if Sam meant what had happened between them that morning. 

“The gore of it all. The thought of what would happen if the harpy got hold of you and did those things.” His voice was still barely audible. 

Dean’s heart rate slowed again once he realized Sam wasn’t talking about anything sexual. He didn’t say anything for a long time, and Sam didn’t move or say anything else. Finally, he whispered back, “That was my nightmare the other night.” 

Sam opened his eyes and looked at brother intently. “It was?” 

Nodding, Dean took another long sip of his beer. “Finding you like that. It was…” he paused, clearing his throat and pushing back the emotion threatening to overwhelm him at the memory, “It was the worst nightmare I’ve ever had.” 

Sam reached down and took Dean’s hand in his own, threading their fingers together. “It wasn’t real.” 

“Felt real.” 

Sam nodded. “I know.” He paused a beat before adding, “That’s why I sleep better with you.” 

Dean stared at Sam for several moments before asking, “Is that why?” 

A crimson blush swept over Sam’s cheeks and down his neck. “Not the only reason,” he finally whispered, not daring to look at Dean when he said it. He stared instead at their clasped hands, fearing the revulsion or disappointment he might find in his brother’s eyes. 

Dean just squeezed his hand and didn’t say anything for a few beats. Then he smiled slightly and told Sam, “I paid Scott Farmington fifty bucks to take Brandi-with-an-I to the movies and the county fair.” 

Sam looked over at Dean in surprise. “Y-you what?” 

“I was sick of her fawning all over you. It was ridiculous. I couldn’t take it anymore. So I told him to take her out to the movies and the fair to get rid of her for a weekend.” 

Sam grinned. Then he laughed. Dean had been jealous? “Fifty bucks, huh?” He knew Dean would’ve considered that amount to be serious _dinero_ in their teenaged years, when they’d routinely feasted on Ramen noodles, Kraft macaroni and cheese, and Little Debbie cakes. Sam couldn’t tamp down the enormous smile splitting his face at this revelation. “Did it work?” 

“Yep.” Dean took another sip of his beer and cast a smug look at Sam. 

Huffing another laugh, Sam shook his head and mused, “I can’t believe I don’t remember her.” 

“Me, either, dude. She was a double-D for sure.” 

“Must’ve had someone more important on my mind.” 

They just sat there, heads resting against the back of the sofa, fingers interlocked, staring at each other for a while. Sam wondered why it didn’t feel weird, but it didn’t. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. He could sit there staring into Dean’s eyes forever and not feel uncomfortable about it. 

“So then…what _were_ you thinking about in the bathroom that summer?” 

Talking about it with his big brother, on the other hand, was apparently still uncomfortable. Sam was sure that the flush that crept into his cheeks would roast marshmallows. “What do you think?” 

“I think I want to hear you tell me.” 

“I think you’re delusional if you think I will.” 

Dean grinned. “C’mon, Sammy. Tell me. What gets your engine goin’?” 

Sam shook his head, smiling but mortified. 

“Cross-dressing, I bet. I can see you strutting around in ladies’ underwear.” 

Sam laughed. “Not me. You, maybe.” 

“Should I break out the belt, then? Maybe a pair of handcuffs?” 

Sam didn’t answer, choosing instead to suck down half of his beer without a breath. 

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Dean asked, his tone triumphant. “Sammy likes to have his ass whipped.” 

Dean’s phone rang. _Saved by the bell_ , thought Sam as he took another swig of beer and watched Dean cross the room to take the call. 

“Hey, Bobby,” Dean said as he answered it. 

Sam got up and went to his duffle, pulled out a fresh pair of underwear, and then went into the bathroom and closed the door to take a shower.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

 

 

After Sam’s shower, he walked back into the main room wearing black boxer-briefs. Dean filled him in on the conversation. 

“Looks like we have the spell, but we need the ingredients.” 

Sam bent over to towel-dry his hair. “Great. Let me guess, a horn from a rare Tibetan goat?” 

Dean chuckled. “Shockingly, no. It’s all natural herbs and other things we should be able to get in stores or at least find in the woods. We just have to write out a few symbols for it to work. Bobby’s gonna text a picture of them.” 

Sam flipped his damp hair back as he stood to his full height again. “How close does she have to be for the spell to work?” 

Dean just smiled, but it wasn’t a happy one. 

Sam sighed. “And there’s the bad news.” 

“Yep. It’s a spell that’ll freeze an entire area, but only within about five yards. So she needs to be pretty close.” 

“What happens if we miss? Can we cast the spell fast enough to do it more than once?” 

“I think if we miss, we won’t get the chance to cast it more than once.” 

“What keeps this spell from freezing us in place, too?” asked Sam. 

“Bobby says we just need to draw protection symbols on our bodies and we won’t be affected. He’s texting those, too.” 

Sam nodded and glanced out the window. “Well it’s too late now to go herb-picking. I say we get on it first thing tomorrow before we meet up with Bela.” 

“Sounds good. I’m grabbing a shower, then we can get some shut-eye.” Dean got up and started moving toward the bathroom, pulling off his tee shirt as he went. 

“Need me to help you with the bandages on your back?”

Dean reached around to see if he could touch the bandages. The harpy talons had sliced into him right beneath his shoulder blades toward the center of his back, so he couldn’t easily reach the injury himself. “Yeah, I think so.” 

Sam walked over next to him. “Let’s move into better light,” he suggested, nudging Dean into the bathroom. 

The boys stepped into the bathroom. The mirror was still half-steamed from Sam’s shower, so Sam took his used towel and wiped it clean. Gingerly, he picked at the edges of the medical tape until he could grasp it and pull it slowly off. 

“I have more bandages in my kit,” he said, rolling up the first strip and tossing it into the trash can. He pulled off the other strips just as carefully, and then peeled back the bandage gently, hoping that the material wouldn’t stick to the wounds. 

Sam frowned once the gauze was pulled free. “God, this looks really bad.” There were three slices beneath Dean’s shoulder blades, and they looked deep. The edges were puffed. “Did they put anything on this before covering it?” 

“I can’t remember.” 

“Well after you shower, I’ll put some Neosporin on it.” 

“Okay, and then I’ll fix your stomach up, too,” Dean replied, motioning to the angry claw marks along Sam’s abdomen. 

Gingerly, Dean leaned over to turn on the water. He unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped them. As he pulled them down, he glanced up at Sam. “What?” 

Sam’s mouth went dry at the sight of his brother standing there in nothing but his boxer-briefs. He’d only just dried off himself, but now all he wanted was to climb back into the shower with Dean. 

Dean noticed Sam’s concerned expression turn to a hungry one and blushed a little under the fierceness of it. He held his little brother’s gaze as he pushed his underwear down his hips and let them fall into a puddle with his jeans. Stepping out of them, he kicked the clothes aside. 

“Do you need help washing your back?” Sam asked softly. 

“Do you wanna help?” Dean replied, and his mouth twitched up in a seductive smile. 

Sam never thought his brother would ever look at him like that. Not ever. It sent a hot flash sizzling through his bloodstream and made him feel light-headed. He could only nod in response, not trusting his voice. 

Dean got into the shower and held the curtain open. Sam didn’t waste any time shucking his own underwear and climbing in after him. 

Shuffling around the enclosed space, they tried to find the best position. The spray splashed against Dean’s wounds, making him hiss. Sam quickly turned them around so that Dean was facing the shower spray and Sam stood behind him. 

Sam took the bar of soap and a washcloth, lathering it up. He took a step back, bringing Dean with him so that the spray wouldn’t wash the soap away until he was ready. He ran the washcloth slowly across Dean’s chest, down his stomach, and over his hips.

Dean reached up and rested one hand on the shower curtain rod and the other on the ledge between the shower and wall. He shivered at Sam’s slow touches. This wasn’t the first time they’d had to shower or bathe together to help each other because of injuries. Not even the hundredth time, probably. It was almost as common as stitching each other’s wounds. But this time was definitely something altogether new, and Dean’s brain struggled to process it. This was his baby brother sliding the soapy rag under his armpits, up and around his neck, and across his shoulders. His cock didn’t seem to care, though, and grew harder with each stroke of the washcloth against his skin. Already a pearly drop of precome seeped from the slit. 

Sam carefully avoided Dean’s injuries and moved the cloth downward to the rounded ass in front of him. Breath catching in his throat, he eased along the crack, pressing gently between Dean’s cheeks and washing him thoroughly. When Dean moaned and leaned back into his hand, Sam’s dick twitched anxiously. Careful not to brush against the deep cuts, Sam couldn’t stop himself from pressing his hips against his brother. 

Dean felt Sam’s cock bumping and then grinding against his ass and he let out a small groan. Before he could say anything about it, Sam had replaced the washcloth on the rack and his lathered hands were sliding around Dean’s hips. Sam’s fingertips slipped into the coarse, trimmed hair around Dean’s cock and very lightly scratched there, lathering the soap thoroughly before moving to curl his fingers underneath Dean’s balls. 

Dean dropped his head forward, watching Sam’s fingers as they played along his wet skin. Fingernails teasing the short hair at the base of his cock, not touching it but oh-so-close. He bit his lip in an effort to control himself, but seeing those large, beautiful hands on his body, touching him so intimately, finally, finally after all these years…Dean closed his eyes against the wave of emotion threatening to overtake him. 

Dean almost turned then, almost threw Sam against the tiled wall to show him just how much he’d ached for him. He wanted to make Sam ache, too, wanted to hear Sam whimper, moan, beg, call out his name. But he stopped himself. If they were really going to do this, the line would be crossed and they couldn’t come back. The idea that he would force his brother into it, either physically or emotionally, even by accident, made Dean sick. He needed Sam to take the reins right now, needed to make sure this was really what Sam wanted. 

“Been wanting to do this for as long as I can remember,” Sam breathed into Dean’s ear. Not for the first time, Dean wondered if Sam somehow could read his thoughts at will. 

Dean pushed his head lightly against Sam’s mouth in acknowledgment, and Sam kissed Dean’s ear softly. 

“All those times we showered or took baths together when we were younger,” Sam said softly against Dean’s ear, “I tried so desperately not to get hard. Couldn’t let you see how much I wanted you.” 

Sam’s fondling grew bolder and more focused. His fingers massaged behind Dean’s balls, rubbed along Dean’s taint until his big brother shivered. 

“Sammy,” he choked out, and his legs went almost limp for a moment. He leaned back into his brother for support, heedless of the lacerations. “Jesus…need it.” 

Sam trailed his soapy fingers back up over Dean’s stomach and chest, plucking his nipples very lightly before flicking his fingernails over them.

“What do you need? Tell me.” 

Dean let out a small whimper. “Need your hand on me.” 

Sam slid both hands downward again until they framed his groin, playing in the hair between Dean’s legs without touching his straining cock. 

“Where do you want my hand? All you have to do is tell me and I’ll do it,” Sam whispered hotly against Dean’s ear. He pulled Dean’s earlobe gently between his teeth. 

“I never knew you were so kinky, Sammy,” Dean said with a soft chuckle. His cheeks and neck were flushed crimson. Sam knew his brother was deflecting, trying to make light of things. This was Dean’s way of keeping control of himself, of trying not to be embarrassed by his intense emotional reactions. 

Then Dean added with a smile in his voice, “It’s always the quiet ones.” 

Sam laughed lightly and dragged his hands slowly away again, caressing Dean’s ribs instead. 

“You goddamned tease,” Dean said with a breathless chuckle. “Jesus Christ, put your hand on my cock before I kick your ass.” 

Sam laughed and playfully bit the side of Dean’s neck. “That’s no way to ask nicely.” 

Dean turned his head so their eyes met. Sam’s were darker than he’d ever seen them, the pupils blown wide. Little puffs of Sam’s breath ghosted over his face. He knew Sam was fighting for control, could feel the tension in his lithe body. He pressed his backside against Sam’s thick shaft and Sam gasped. His baby brother’s lips were red as if he’d been biting them in the effort to control himself. Plump, wet, tantalizing. Dean pressed his own mouth against them to find out what they felt like. 

Sam’s arms tightened around Dean’s waist and he fought to control his heart rate. His brain slowed down even as his pulse rate doubled. He’d lost count of the dreams he’d had over the years of doing this with Dean. Those sinful, delicious lips teasing him mercilessly. At least half of the trips to the bathroom to jack off were a result of Dean’s tempting lips. Sam moaned low and deep at the pillowy softness moving languidly against his mouth. He was pretty sure he could come just from kissing Dean. One day he intended to find out. 

Sam eased his tongue into Dean’s mouth, exploring with tender, light presses against Dean’s tongue, against his teeth, the roof of his mouth, his cheeks. He wanted to map and learn every crevice. He withdrew to give Dean wet, messy pecks on his lips before diving in again to taste everything Dean had to offer. 

Finally Sam broke the kiss, leaving them both breathless and panting. He moved his hands down to Dean’s dick again and circled it very lightly with still-soapy fingers. Dean’s cock was long and thick, shiny and slick with precome. 

“Feels so damn good, Dean. God, so hard for me.” 

Dean groaned and leaned his head back against Sam. He thrust his hips against Sam’s hand, trying to get more friction. Sam’s fingers teased against the hard shaft, not squeezing as hard as Dean wanted, needed. Sam’s other hand pulled and rolled Dean’s balls until Dean let out a whimper. 

“You wanna come?” asked Sam, nipping Dean’s earlobe as his fingers circled gingerly, stretching and gently tugging his balls until Dean was nearly panting. 

Dean arched up, trying to get Sam’s fingers where he wanted them, where he so desperately needed them, but Sam drew them away. “Yeah.” 

“Such a pretty cock, Dean. God, I always knew it would be that pretty all hard for me, just knew it.” Sam bit Dean’s neck, sucking hard against it as his fingers continued their assault between Dean’s legs. 

“Jesus,” he breathed, soft pants against Dean’s shoulder as he looked down at his fingers on his brother’s balls. “Your dick’s so wet, but not from the shower is it?” Sam touched Dean’s iron-hard cock again, but it was only with his finger. He traced a fingertip very slowly around the crown, picking up the moisture oozing there and spreading it down the underside of the shaft. “Who’s it all wet for?” he whispered. 

Dean closed his eyes and jerked forward again, but it wasn’t enough. Sam pulled Dean’s balls down and away from his body firmly but not to cause pain, just to torment him. Gasping, Dean finally responded, “You.” 

“God,” Sam sighed against Dean’s wet hair, fighting not to shoot his load right then and there. A too-much sensation threatened to overtake him before he tamped it down and forced it to the back of his brain. He’d waited so damn long, too fucking long, and he wasn’t going to overthink it this time. Now he just wanted to feel--Dean, strong, warm, and pliant in his arms. Dean, always the one shielding Sam from everything, and now it was Sam’s turn to hold his brother up and take care of him. He wanted to hear his brother moan and whimper and gasp in ecstasy and know that he caused it, that it was all for him and nobody else. 

He wrapped his long fingers around Dean’s shaft and squeezed it firmly before stroking up and down. 

“Yeah, Sammy, God yeah.” Dean’s head fell against Sam’s shoulder and he pumped his hips against Sam’s hand, but the speed of his brother’s strokes wasn’t fast enough. It only made him more desperate. 

“Look so hot fucking my hand,” Sam murmured, nibbling a path down Dean’s neck to his shoulder. “Wanna see you come so bad.” 

“Harder, Sammy, please. Wanna come. Let me.” 

“Love hearing you beg,” growled Sam, and his hand started moving in earnest, gripping more firmly and sliding with purpose along Dean’s tortured dick. 

Sam couldn’t hold himself back anymore, either, having worked himself up into just as much of a frenzy as his brother. He pushed his thick cock into the cleft of Dean’s ass, sliding it back and forth in time with his hand on Dean’s shaft. 

“Shit, Sammy, Jesus Christ, oh!” Dean cried out as he let loose his orgasm, squirting thick, white ropes into the air. 

Watching the fluid pulse wildly from his brother’s cock sent Sam into the throes of his own release, and he gave a loud groan as his balls emptied between Dean’s ass cheeks. He milked Dean and rutted against his brother until they both became oversensitive. 

Neither one of them said a word as they took deep breaths trying to regain their senses. Finally, Sam reached for the washcloth and soaped it up again, nudging Dean forward into the shower spray. He didn’t say anything as he soaped Dean all over again from head to toe. Careful, slow, and deliberate, he cleaned him thoroughly before reaching for the shampoo. He lathered Dean’s short hair and scratched his scalp gently with his fingers. Dean purred, his head back and eyes closed as Sam washed his hair. 

As Dean rinsed the shampoo out, Sam hurried to wash himself off again. The water was getting cold, so after a quick rinse, both boys got out of the shower. 

Dean dried off first and left the bathroom to Sam, who toweled his hair dry and then combed out the tangles. When he walked into the bedroom naked, Sam noticed the ointment and bandages were on the nightstand beside the bed. Dean was stretched out on the bed with the covers pulled up around his hips. 

Sam glanced at his duffle, wondering if he should put on some underwear. He blushed, suddenly uncomfortable.

“I need you to bandage me up before lights-out.” 

“Um, yeah, just…” Sam’s voice trailed off, and his ears pinked. He vaguely pointed at his duffle but didn’t move. 

“Hey,” Dean said softly. Sam looked up, and Dean smirked as he pulled back the covers to show Sam that he was still completely naked. 

Sam’s face split into a huge smile, his dimples nearly taking Dean’s breath away. There was nothing that warmed his heart more than seeing that smile on his baby brother’s face. Except maybe knowing that he’d put it there. 

After applying ointment and taping the new gauze in place on Dean’s back, Dean took the tape and gauze from Sam and returned the favor. He gently applied the ointment and bandage over Sam’s injuries, and then laid the supplies on the nightstand again. 

Sam turned off the light and settled onto his side. Dean scooted up against Sam’s back and wrapped his arm around him, pulling him as close as possible while being careful not to irritate his stomach wound. Within minutes, both boys drifted into a sound sleep.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

 

Dean woke slowly to the steady rise and fall of his brother’s chest beneath him. His head lay against Sam’s chest, and Sam’s heart beat a slow, steady thud against his ear. His thigh was nestled at the apex of Sam’s long legs. Warm and comfortable, he didn’t want to move. He just lay still, enjoying the shared heat from their bodies and the whisper of Sam’s breath in his hair. 

It wasn’t until Sam stretched that Dean got more interested in waking. Arching languidly, Sam pressed his hips upward, his morning erection prodding Dean’s hip. When Sam’s fingers scratched lightly against Dean’s short hair, Dean knew his brother was awake, too. 

“Mornin’,” whispered Dean without looking up or moving. 

Sam hummed a soft grunt in response. 

Dean trailed a finger lightly down Sam’s stomach. “I have an idea that might make waking up easier.” 

Sam’s hand moved to the back of Dean’s neck and stroked it lightly. “That so?” he responded softly, his voice thick and raspy from sleep. Dean could hear the smile in Sam’s voice. 

“Mm.” Dean moved his hand between Sam’s legs, his fingers wrapping around Sam’s stiff dick. 

Sam let out a soft sigh and arched up into Dean’s grasp. “I like this idea.” 

Dean kissed the smooth skin of Sam’s belly, working his way downward as his fingers slid up and down against the hardness in his hand. “It gets better.” 

Sam’s breathing quickened when Dean pressed a kiss against the tip of his cock. Briefly he wondered if he was still dreaming. How long had he wanted this very thing? How many nights had he frantically stripped his dick with shaky fingers, milking it over and over to thoughts of Dean’s mouth sucking it deep. It was surreal to feel Dean’s naked heat snugged up against his own, to feel the moist warmth of Dean’s mouth as it pulled Sam’s cock inside. 

Dean flattened his tongue and laved Sam’s shaft with long, slow licks. He’d spent so many hours dreaming of this that there was no way he’d rush it. He shifted himself so that he was in between Sam’s legs and could look up at him. He slid Sam’s cock back into his mouth, pushing down to the base so that he could feel the head at the back of his throat. He glanced up at Sam and found his brother propped up on his elbows, watching him with rapt attention. 

“God, De,” Sam moaned, not taking his eyes off his brother’s as Dean drew his tongue in a circle around the head, just beneath the ridge. “If you only knew--“ He stopped himself. A crimson blush suffused his cheeks and he closed his eyes. 

Dean withdrew his mouth and whispered, “Tell me.” He kissed the wet slit and wriggled the tip of his tongue against it. 

Sam groaned and shook his head. 

Dean brought his hand up and rubbed Sam’s balls, rolling them gently in his fingers. He pressed a kiss against the wet underside of Sam’s cock and gave it a lick. “C’mon. No more secrets, Sammy. Tell me.” 

Sam’s heart gave a vicious throb then, so full of love for his brother that he thought it might burst any moment. It took him a few seconds to catch his breath because Dean’s fingers hadn’t stopped massaging his balls and his mouth was back to sucking in a steady rhythm. 

“It’s just…I’ve wanted this for so long. Wanted to feel your mouth on me. Those lips, Jesus Christ.” Sam paused to catch his breath again because Dean had started sucking faster. “Used to imagine you sucking me. Wanted it more than anything.” 

Dean responded with harder sucks instead of words, his fingers joining his mouth in pumping Sam’s shaft. Precome leaked steadily now, slicking the way, making it even easier to set up a firm, faster rhythm. Dean popped Sam’s dick out of his mouth with an obscene slurp and said, “Already know you’re gonna taste so good. Wanna feel you come, Sammy. Wanna see your face when I swallow it all.” 

“Oh my God,” whispered Sam, breath hitching and heart hammering against his ribs. Dean’s words went straight to his cock, and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. “So close, De.” 

Dean hollowed his cheeks and sucked as hard as he could, pushing Sam’s cock as deep into his throat as he could without gagging. He couldn’t get enough, wanted every inch inside his mouth. He was desperate to taste his little brother—finally, after so long. So fucking long. 

Sam cried out and thrust his hips up as his orgasm crashed over him. His dick shuddered and squirted, and Dean held it deep, swallowing every drop. Dean didn’t move. He held Sam’s spent cock in his mouth until it began to soften. His fingertips played in circles along Sam’s ribs, down to his hips and back again while he held Sam’s softening dick in the heat of his mouth. 

Sam panted lightly and tried to get his brain back online. “That was unbelievable.” 

Finally Dean pulled Sam out of his mouth and crawled back up beside him, throwing an arm across Sam’s stomach and nudging a leg in between Sam’s again. “Never tasted anything so good in my life.” The words were out before he had a chance to censor himself. 

Sam blushed and put his arm on top of Dean’s, giving it an affectionate squeeze. They didn’t speak for a few moments. When the post-orgasm haze finally cleared, Sam suddenly realized Dean’s hard-on was pressed into his hip. “Oh, let me-“ 

“No,” Dean cut him off. 

“But I want-“ 

Dean looked at Sam then, and pressed a finger against Sam’s lips. “No time.” He leaned forward and replaced his finger with his lips, giving Sam a gentle kiss. No tongue, just a slow, sweet sharing of breath and heat. Sam pulled against the back of Dean’s head, trying to bring him closer and deepen the kiss; but Dean pulled away. 

“C’mon. It won’t take too long.” 

Shaking his head, Dean answered, “We have to get stuff for the potion before we meet up with Bela. Don’t worry. I’ll let you make it up to me later.” He smiled at Sam and ruffled his hair before climbing out of bed. 

With a puzzled look, Sam watched him walk to the bathroom and close the door. 

* 

Dean and Sam pulled into T.J.’s Grill and Bar at 11:55 a.m. and found that Bela was already waiting for them. 

They climbed out of the Impala and walked over to where she stood leaning casually against a silver BMW convertible. 

“Hello, boys,” she greeted them. 

“Did you find it?” asked Dean without preamble. Sam reached up and placed a hand lightly against Dean’s back, a silent caution for Dean to hold his temper. 

Bela noticed. Her smile was a little too knowing when she said, “You two seem…well rested.” 

Without looking, Dean knew that Sam had turned beet red. “I hope you haven’t changed your mind,” he told her. 

“Once I make a deal, Dean, I don’t change my mind.” 

“Then where is it?” 

Bela reached into the back of her car and withdrew a cardboard box. “There are a few things you must know first.” 

Sam gave her a suspicious look. He’d rather she just hand it over and stop stalling. “Like what?” 

“The harpy can sense the feathers you have.” 

“We figured that out already,” Dean said. 

“Those feathers were inside moonstone for centuries.” 

“We know that, too,” Sam replied. 

“Well, do you know why the harpy didn’t hunt them down sooner?” she asked, looking from one brother to the other expectantly. 

“Because the feathers were in the moonstone. She couldn’t find them,” Sam answered. 

She smiled. “Not quite.” 

Dean fought back the growl threatening to explode from his throat at her smug expression. 

Bela continued, “The harpy has been trapped in a prison designed by Isis for centuries. She only got out because the moonstone that held the feathers was broken.” 

“We heard Hanniger broke the moonstone during the theft. Why would he do that?” Sam asked. 

Dean noted with satisfaction that Bela looked embarrassed before she responded, “Because he was an idiot. I made the mistake of telling him that my buyer wanted the feathers, and he took me literally. He broke the stone thinking that he had to give me _just_ the feathers.” 

Sam let that process for a second. “Okay, but why did breaking the moonstone release the harpy from the prison if nobody cast the spell to open that door?” 

“That’s still a bit hazy. Rumor has it that someone was casting the spell to open the prison gateway at the exact time that Isis cast the spell to trap the feathers in the moonstone. Once the feathers were trapped, the spell to open the gate stopped mid-stream. The theory seems to be that the moment the moonstone was broken, the spell to open the prison doorway finished casting, and the harpy escaped.” 

“So the feathers can’t be used to cast the spell if they’re locked in the moonstone.” 

Bela nodded at Dean. “Isis locked them in the stone to prevent anyone from casting the spell again.” 

Dean and Sam looked at each other for a moment, silent understanding passing between them. Sam said, “So the spell that opens the doorway to the prison works both ways. It can be used to set them free or throw them back in.” 

“Exactly. And that’s why she’s so intent on getting them back. She was trapped there for a very, very long time. She’s pissed, and she doesn’t want to go back.” 

“How the hell do you know all this?” Dean asked her. 

“Spirits are often lonely and chatty. I found one who was particularly knowledgeable.” 

“And you decided to come after the feathers yourself. To sell them to someone who would do God only knows what with them. And that seemed like a good idea to you?” Dean wanted to throttle her. 

“The five million dollars seemed like an excellent idea,” she answered, unfazed by his angry tone. 

Dean started to respond, but Sam’s light touch on Dean’s arm stopped him. Instead, Sam asked, “So what’s Morgan’s stake in all of this? Is he trying to get the feathers to sell them to the highest bidder, too?” 

“I contacted him to ask that very thing. He told me all about your visit to the vault.” 

“And?” prompted Sam when Bela didn’t elaborate. 

She shrugged. “And he’s not happy you boys walked out with the goods.” 

“I imagine you aren’t too happy, either. I’m guessing you’re waiting for the right time to grab them for yourself. I’m trying to figure out your angle in all this,” Sam said, crossing his arms across his chest. He studied her intently, but her expression was unreadable. Typical. 

“Knowledge is power. Every time I interact with spirits and occult objects, I learn more useful information for the future.” 

“So we’re supposed to believe you’re in this for the learning experience?” Dean scoffed. “Give me a break.” 

Bela frowned at him. “Would you rather I leave you to figure out where to get more Greek Fire on your own then?” 

Dean sighed and rubbed his forehead. “No.” 

“There, see? You can be smart.” 

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but Sam placed a strong hand on his shoulder and said in a tired voice, “Just give us the Greek Fire so we can clean up this mess.” 

Bela smiled. “This substance is no joke, boys. You need to handle it carefully or you could burn down the entire town.” 

“We know that,” replied Sam. “I’ve done research on Greek Fire. I know how it works.” 

Bela looked at him for a few moments before answering, “Inside this box is a small clay pot that holds the liquid. There’s packaging in there to keep the pot upright. Do _not_ open the pot to look inside. When you transport it, be careful. If it spills, you’ll be barbecued.” 

Sam nodded. “Got it.” He held out his hands for the box. 

Bela didn’t give it to him. “When do you plan to use it?” 

“Why?” Sam asked. 

“When?” she repeated, her jaw set in a stubborn line. 

Dean closed his eyes and sighed heavily to calm himself. “Probably tomorrow. Why?” 

“Where will you use it?” she asked. 

“Goddamnit, Bela, stop the bullshit.” 

“I need an answer.” 

“Christ,” spat Dean, venom in his tone. There was no way in Hell he was telling Bela anything about their plans. “The park near the public library, early tomorrow morning before it opens,” he lied smoothly. “Happy?” 

Bela answered, “When you get ready to use it, just throw the pot at the harpy hard enough to break it. It doesn’t take all that much force, which is another reason you need to be _careful_.” 

“Why do you even care if we fry?” Dean asked, exasperated. 

Bela rolled her eyes. “Because I’m still in the same town as you, and I don’t fancy getting myself burned to a crisp, you imbecile.” 

“Then leave.” 

“With that attitude, I’ve half a mind to leave right now and take this with me,” she shot back. 

“Half a mind is right, you –“ 

Sam grasped Dean’s arm and gave it a squeeze to stop him in mid-sentence. “Bela, we really appreciate your help. It’s just been a frustrating case.” 

She smiled at Sam. “I see why Dean needs you around. Well, aside from the other obvious reason.” 

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “What? What other reason?” 

She smirked at Dean and handed the box to Sam. “Be careful. Good luck.” And with that, she got into her car and left. 

* 

The boys had gathered the necessary components for the Paralysis spell by four o’clock that afternoon. Sam pulled out a mortar and pestle and began mixing the ingredients at the desk. 

“I’m taking off to get us some gear,” said Dean as he grabbed his keys. He stood beside Sam watching as his brother ground herbs in the mortar. 

Without looking up, Sam commented, “Thank God for the new credit card.” 

“No kiddin’. All right, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Dean bent down and kissed the top of Sam’s head. 

Sam paused at the unexpected show of affection, but Dean was already opening the door. He smiled and went back to work. 

By seven o’clock, Dean was back in the motel room tossing shopping bags onto his bed. “Check this out. You’re gonna love it. They even had a freakin’ tall size just for you, Sasquatch.” 

Dean pulled out a one-piece suit and held it up for Sam to see. It was solid black with long sleeves and a high neck. “Reinforced Kevlar,” he said with a grin. 

Sam couldn’t help but grin back. “No way.” 

“Yes way. And look,” he continued, digging into another bag and holding up a black, full-face helmet. “Also reinforced Kevlar.” 

“Holy shit.” Sam stood up from the desk and walked over, taking the helmet from Dean and turning it in his hands. “This is awesome. This should really help.” 

“Hope so. Anyway, it’s the best shot we’ve got. Did you get the potion finished?” 

Nodding, Sam handed the helmet back to Dean and walked back to the desk. He lifted a stoppered clear plastic tube for Dean’s inspection. The liquid inside was crimson. “We have to pour this on the spot where we want the effect and then chant a short spell. It will freeze anything in a five-yard radius.” 

Dean took a breath and sighed. “All right. I think we need to wait for daylight.” 

“Definitely.” 

“Let’s eat. I’m freakin’ starving.” 

Later that evening, Dean and Sam undressed and climbed into bed together, Dean holding Sam against his chest. He buried his nose in Sam’s hair, enjoying the scent of it, loving the fact that he could do this now without any fear of discovery. Sam was finally his, and he would make damn sure no one or nothing ever took him away. Lilith could just go screw herself. There was no way he’d give Sam up. No way. He’d fight with everything he had to make sure he stayed around to protect his little brother, just like he always had. He squeezed his arm around Sam and drifted into a peaceful sleep.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

 

At ten o’clock the next morning, Dean and Sam were at the park across from their motel, sporting fresh anti-paralysis sigils drawn in black Sharpie on their arms that were now covered by their new one-piece motorcycle suits. They had waited until after morning rush hour to make sure the park wouldn’t be full of joggers or dog-walkers. They stood beneath a covered picnic area. Wooden beams supported a roof also made of dark wood. There was concrete covering the ground beneath the roof, and four picnic tables with attached benches offered visitors a place to sit and enjoy an outdoor meal. 

“I think we should stay under here. It will keep her from being able to do a long, hard dive into our heads from too far up.” 

“Yeah, I think so, too,” answered Sam, looking over the wooden structures. The beams were thick and seemed fairly sturdy. “It’s a clear day and no breeze. This is good for us. We should sense her coming right away if the wind kicks up,” observed Sam. 

Dean grunted agreement and scanned the area himself. “No civilians, so that’s good. Road’s not too close, and there’s light traffic anyway.” Then he looked at Sam. “You’ve got the feathers, right?” 

Sam pulled the airtight plastic tube from a zippered pocket in his suit and showed it to Dean, then put it back into the pocket and zipped it up. They wouldn’t be opening it until they were ready for the attack. 

“We need to draw these sigils Bobby texted. I figure we can draw them here on the concrete.” Dean handed Sam a piece of white chalk before squatting down. “I’ll hold the phone for you while you draw.” 

Sam smiled and squatted beside his brother. “Why don’t you draw them?” 

“You’re better at it,” Dean said with a wink. 

Sam huffed a laugh. “You just want to stare at my ass in this suit.” 

Dean chuckled and wiggled his eyebrows at his brother. Sam studied at the picture on Dean’s phone and began to draw the symbols onto the concrete. 

Just as he finished the last line, they were interrupted by a voice saying, “Now what would the FBI be doodling with chalk, I wonder?”

Sam and Dean jerked their heads up and were stunned to find Max Morgan standing behind them. Both Winchesters jumped to their feet. 

“Playing Hop-Scotch?” Morgan’s smile was anything but friendly. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” asked Dean. He cursed himself for his lack of attention while Sam drew the sigils. The Greek Fire was sitting next to their helmets on the picnic table behind them. Worse still, his gun was inside the zipped pocket of his suit since he hadn’t really been expecting to need it. 

Dean’s stomach dropped when Morgan pulled out his own gun and aimed it at Sam. “I’m here to take what’s mine.” 

“And what would that be?” Dean asked, knowing perfectly well what the man meant. 

“The harpy feathers and the scroll you took from the museum. Hand them over and I won’t shoot your brother.” 

“We don’t have them.” 

Morgan fixed a mirthless smile on Dean. “I know you don’t, Dean. But Sam here does.” 

Dean was taken aback that Morgan knew their names. “How the hell did you find us?” 

“A mutual friend,” he responded. 

“Bela,” Sam said, his voice filled with disgust. 

“That’s bullshit,” Dean spat. “She didn’t know we’d be here.” 

Morgan chuckled. “Because you lied to her? Boys, please. She knew you wouldn’t tell the truth. She has other ways of finding out what she wants to know.” 

When Dean and Sam glanced at each other with clenched jaws, Morgan gave another soft laugh. “She’s quite something, isn’t she? I feel for you, boys, I really do. I’ve been on the receiving end of her double-crossing before myself. It’s unpleasant, I know.” 

“Yet here you are, trusting her again.” 

“On the contrary, Dean,” Morgan replied. “I would never trust her. But the prospect of a two-million dollar payday is too good to pass up.” 

“Two million? That’s all she offered you?” 

Morgan narrowed his eyes at Dean. “Why do you ask?” 

Dean shrugged. “It just seems like the only fair thing is for her to give you half. She told us her buyer was paying ten million.” 

“You’re lying.” 

“No,” said Sam, and Dean knew without looking that Sam was giving Morgan his patented “you can trust me with your deepest secrets” expression. Coupled with the puppy eyes that were in Sam’s arsenal, it was a one-two punch guaranteed to work every time. “It’s true,” continued Sam in a soft, cajoling voice. “She tried to bribe us with five million dollars, but we told her to go to Hell.” 

Morgan didn’t say anything for a few beats, his expression livid. He gathered his composure, however, and flicked his gun, still pointing it at Sam. “No matter. I can talk with her about that later. Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Hand over the feathers and scroll, Sam, and nobody gets hurt. Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be, eh?” 

“No.” 

Morgan cocked his gun and held it higher, aiming at Sam’s head. “You need to rethink that, Sam.” 

“I have them, you asshole,” Dean said. 

“The unfortunate thing about that motorcycle gear you’re wearing is that it doesn’t leave much to the imagination.” He motioned with his gun to Sam’s bulging side pocket. “So let’s stop playing games now. Sam, hand them over.”

“No.” 

Morgan paused a moment, and then the dangerous smile returned. “Ah, I see. I’m going about this the wrong way. How silly of me.” He turned his gun on Dean then, aiming at his head. 

“How about now?” he asked Sam, his expression expectant. 

“Son of a bitch,” muttered Dean under his breath. He knew Sam would never hold out now. 

Morgan jerked the gun as he ordered, “Sit on the ground, both of you. Back to back.” 

The boys complied. Sam inwardly cursed as he sat, knowing it would be impossible now to rush Morgan before he could get a shot off. 

“Slowly, Sam. Take out the tube and give it to me. Museum property, you know.” 

Sam gritted his teeth and sighed through his nose. He had no choice. There was no way he could refuse and risk having Morgan shoot Dean. He unzipped his pocket and carefully withdrew the airtight tube. With effort, he extended it to Morgan. 

“That harpy will rip your eyes out,” Dean told him. “You can’t stop her.” 

“Can’t I?” Morgan responded as he took the tube from Sam. He kept his gun trained on Dean. “I’ll have it cast back into its prison soon enough.” 

Morgan looked at the tube and then at the Winchesters. “What exactly were you planning to do here?” 

When neither Dean nor Sam answered, Morgan went on, “I’m guessing you wanted to draw her out, right? Try to freeze her in place. That’s what those symbols are for, isn’t it?” he asked, pointing to the sigils with his gun before aiming it at Dean again. 

“Well,” he said with smug satisfaction, “Bela told me you two are hunters, but you’re not very good, are you? Those sigils are wrong.” 

Sam’s pulse raced. What did he mean they were wrong? Bobby had texted them. No way would they be wrong. 

“And you know this how?” he asked Morgan, curiosity getting the better of him. 

“Bela gave me the correct sigils for the Paralysis spell. She told me all about your plan.” 

“She double-crossed you again, you dumbass,” Dean informed him, laughing. “You poor schmuck.” 

Morgan scowled. “We’ll just see about that, won’t we?” He twisted the seal on the tube until it opened. 

“Max, no!” shouted Sam, but it was too late. 

“Oh, she’ll come, Sam. She’ll smell that the feathers were here, but I’ll be long gone by then.” 

“Max, you idiot! Close them up right now! She’s too fast, she’ll kill you!” Sam warned. 

Morgan chuckled. “She’s not that fast, boy. Bela already told me it takes a couple of hours before she senses them.” He closed the container again and tucked it into his inside jacket pocket. 

“You stupid jackass!” Dean shot back. He was about to say more when a strong breeze brushed his face. 

The next moment, the wind howled across the park. Sam saw the cardboard box holding the pot of Greek Fire sail toward the edge of the table. He lunged for the box. Catching it upright just before it hit the ground, Sam breathed a relieved sigh. The relief was short-lived, however. The wind picked up, knocking over a trash can. Sam knew it was only a matter of moments before the harpy arrived. 

“Max, give them back to us!” Dean yelled, jumping to his feet. “She will _kill_ you!” 

“You’re out of your mind,” Morgan cackled. “Good luck!” he called out as he broke into a run. 

He didn’t get far. He had just reached the grass just outside the covered picnic area when an unseen force struck him so hard it lifted him up and threw him a few yards. Morgan let out a piercing wail loud enough to be heard over the harsh winds. 

“Dean! Helmet!” Sam yelled, and he took the Greek Fire from the box, careful to keep a good hold on it while he threw his brother the motorcycle helmet.

Dean quickly smashed the helmet onto his head and dropped the visor. Sam handed the Greek Fire to Dean so he could put on his own helmet. 

“Where are they?!” the harpy screamed. Sam and Dean saw her talons sink into Morgan’s abdomen. 

“Sam! Spell!” 

Sam lifted the Paralysis potion and started chanting. To his complete surprise, the harpy stopped torturing Morgan and emitted an ear-piercing shriek. He barely had time to register the pain in his ears before something slammed into his head, knocking his helmet off. The blow caused him to drop the Paralysis potion, and it splattered all over the concrete as he tumbled to the ground beside it. Sam had the presence of mind to bring his arm up to cover his eyes and resumed the last of the chant just as something sharp pierced his side. 

“Sammy!” Dean shouted the instant the spell took effect. 

The harpy froze in place, hanging upright over Sam in mid-air. Her beautiful face was frozen in a gruesome mask of vitriol as she gazed down at her intended victim. Wings spread wide, her feet were pointed downward and her legs bent as if stopped in mid-slice. 

The thundering wind had stopped as if someone had flipped an off switch. Dean realized with horror that one of the long talons on the harpy’s right foot had pierced Sam’s left side and was still embedded there. 

It was only then that Dean heard Sam grunt in pain and saw him wiggle beneath the harpy, trying to get free. Dean placed the clay pot of Greek Fire on the concrete as fast as he could and ran over to pry the talon loose. 

“Shit, Sam, I can’t move it!” 

“Fry her ass! Now!” Sam yelled. “Do it; we don’t have time! Do it!” 

“Fuck that!” Dean screamed, his whole body shaking. He knew what he had to do. Unable to see exactly where the talon had stabbed his brother, there was still no way Dean could throw the Greek Fire on the harpy while his brother was trapped beneath it. Desperate, his voice filled with anguish, he said, “Hang on, Sammy. I’m so sorry,” as he yanked Sam out from beneath the harpy. 

The talon slit Sam’s suit when he pulled, and Sam yelped in surprise and pain. Dean saw blood but couldn’t tell how much of Sam’s skin had been torn open as Dean dragged his little brother back toward the spot where he’d placed the clay pot on the ground. Sam reached up to put pressure on his side. 

Dean had the clay pot in his hand when he saw the harpy’s feathers ruffle. He didn’t hesitate. Throwing the pot as hard as he could, he closed his eyes and hoped it would find its target. He was rewarded with the sound of ignition just as the harpy shifted in the air again. Dean fell over top of Sam and shielded his brother with his body. 

The harpy’s high-pitched screams rent the air as eerie, greenish-yellow flames licked her feathers and scorched her body. To Dean’s surprise, the destructive flames did not create a huge conflagration; rather, they seemed to just glow and surround the harpy’s entire body. The heat was intense, however, and Dean watched through shielded eyes as the harpy turned solid black and then her body broke apart into ashes that fluttered to the ground in a pile. Not even charred bones remained. 

Sam grunted in pain, struggling to sit up. “Dean,” he said, wincing, “S-save some ashes just in case. You never know.” 

Dean rushed over to the ashes, double-checking for any signs that the Greek Fire was still burning. He was surprised to find no sign of fire, and further amazed to find that the ashes were cool to the touch. He removed his helmet and scooped a few handfuls of ash into it. His fingers touched cold metal and he yanked them back in shock. The talons. 

“Sam, the talons didn’t burn,” he said, holding up one of the blades carefully to show Sam. 

“Huh,” was all Sam could manage. He was about to ask Dean to save those, too, but Dean was already using his helmet as a bucket again and putting the bronze blades into it. 

When Dean stood, something caught his eye. It was Sam’s helmet, lying on the ground a few feet away. “Holy Hell,” he breathed, and he picked it up. 

“What?” 

“Look at this,” Dean said, showing Sam the ravaged helmet. It was dented and severely scratched. “Jesus, Sammy,” he breathed, staring at the deep grooves across the top. “Jesus,” he whispered again. Bile rose in his throat at the thought of what might have happened had Sam not been wearing the helmet. He closed his eyes and pushed it back down.

“I’m okay, Dean. I’m fine. Just…need some help getting up.” 

Dean set the helmets on the table and helped Sam to his feet. “We need to see how bad it is. Might need to take you to a hospital.” 

Sam shook his head, taking deep breaths to steady himself. “Think I’ll be okay. If I need stitches, I’ll get you to do it.”

Dean glanced over at Max Morgan’s ripped and bloody corpse. “I think we need to get the hell out of Dodge.” He moved quickly to Morgan’s body and picked up the airtight container that was still in the dead man’s pocket. 

“No argument here,” replied Sam. 

Dean grabbed the ash-filled helmet in one hand and gave Sam the other one. He braced Sam with his other arm as they walked slowly back across the street to the Sundown Motel.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

 

An hour later, Sam was stretched out in his boxer-briefs on his motel bed, propped up by a mound of pillows. His left side was freshly stitched and bandaged. Luckily, the harpy’s talon had only caught him on the very edge of his side just below his ribs, so when Dean pulled him free, Sam hadn’t damaged anything vital. He gingerly touched the bandages and shifted to test the stitches beneath. 

He watched as Dean, also dressed only in boxer-briefs, poured a few Ibuprofen tablets into his hand and placed them beside Sam on the nightstand. 

“I’ll grab you some water,” he said, going into the bathroom. 

He was back in a flash, small glass of cold water in hand. He perched on the side of the bed and handed Sam the glass. 

“Thanks.” Sam took the glass and swallowed the tablets. He set the glass on the nightstand and looked at his brother for a long moment without speaking. 

Dean looked away. He knew what Sam was thinking. 

“You should’ve just thrown it, Dean.” 

“We’re alive. It worked out fine.” 

“You didn’t know it would. You could’ve set that thing loose all over again.” 

“But I didn’t.” 

“Dean, look at me.” 

Dean sighed but did as Sam asked. Sam continued, “You can’t save me and damn the rest of the world doing it.” 

“Watch me.” 

Sam huffed a small laugh at that and shook his head. Reaching out, he took Dean’s hand in his own, resting them on the bed together. Dean’s hand still felt the same as it always had, as far back as he could remember. Even when they were kids, Dean had had callouses from helping Dad fix the Impala, or from climbing ropes, trees, and monkey bars. These fingers had stroked Sam’s hair when he was sick, or patched him up with Band-Aids when he’d had a scraped knee. 

Sam let his fingertips trace each of Dean’s fingers. He imagined what would have happened had their positions been reversed, and he knew he would never have thrown the Greek Fire at the harpy if Dean had been trapped underneath it. He nodded then, and picked Dean’s hand up, lifting it to his lips to kiss its palm. 

Dean sucked in a breath. Sam’s tongue flicked out to lick the rough skin before kissing it again. He loved hearing Dean make those sounds because of him. Tugging lightly, he urged Dean closer. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Dean said softly. 

“You won’t,” Sam assured him. “C’mon. Like this.” He pulled Dean until his older brother moved, and then guided him so that Dean was straddling his hips. 

“Mm. I like this. Easy access,” Sam murmured with a smile. He slid his hands up and down Dean’s smooth, muscled sides and downward to rub his strong thighs. 

Dean rested his hands on Sam’s shoulders and lightly stroked his brother’s neck. Sam’s hair was getting longer, he noted, the ends curling at the nape of his neck enticingly. Long, dark bangs framed his face. Dean couldn’t count the times in his life when he’d had to stop himself from plunging his fingers into those silky, sable strands. The realization that he didn’t have to stop himself anymore hit him then. He reached up and combed both of his hands through Sam’s hair, holding it, loving how soft it felt as it slid between his fingers. 

Leaning down, Dean pressed soft kisses to Sam’s forehead, nose, and cheeks. His fingers never stopped moving in Sam’s hair, and Sam closed his eyes in pleasure. 

“Always wondered what this would feel like,” Sam whispered, his eyes still closed. 

“Me too.” 

Sam opened his eyes again then. “I keep expecting to wake up any minute.” 

Dean looked at him and nodded, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he pressed his lips against Sam’s in a soft, slow kiss. Sam’s arms came around him and pulled him closer. They moved their lips together in a series of short kisses, content to share heated breaths as their hands explored each other. The kisses became longer, lips pressed against each other, wet now. Sam pulled Dean’s lower lip tenderly between his teeth and released it, and then kissed his brother hard, urging Dean’s mouth open and slipping his tongue inside. Dean groaned and kissed him back just as fiercely. 

As their lips and tongues melded, Sam reached down to find Dean hard already. He slipped Dean’s cock through the opening in his underwear and grasped it, caressing the shaft. Dean moaned, spurring him on. Sam gently pinched the head of Dean’s dick. Dean thrust his hips, trying to get more friction, but Sam let out a soft chuckle into Dean’s mouth and pulled his fingers away again. 

Dean whimpered, even though he would never admit it. He craved the heat of Sam’s hand on him. 

“Sit up on your knees,” Sam directed, and Dean did, moving into a kneeling position. 

Sam scooted downward a bit against the pillows to line his mouth up with Dean’s thick cock. Without another word, he flicked his tongue out to taste the damp tip. Slightly salty, he decided, and laved the entire crown of Dean’s dick then, swirling his tongue along the ridge. 

Dean pulled in a quick breath, his hands still sliding through Sam’s hair. He wasn’t urging or pushing Sam’s head, just letting his brother do whatever he wanted. So many years Dean had wondered what Sam’s tongue would feel like slipping along his cock, and now it was happening. Overwhelmed with the sensation of it, he tried desperately not to shoot his load in five seconds flat. He wanted this to last. 

When Sam pressed the tip of his tongue into Dean’s slit and wriggled it, Dean gave a loud, surprised moan. “Have you ever done this before, Sammy?” he whispered. 

Sam blushed and pulled his mouth away long enough to reply, “Never wanted to with anyone but you.” He sucked the head of Dean’s dick back into his mouth. He didn’t drop his lips further down the shaft. He wanted to tease Dean until his brother begged for release. 

Sam pushed the waistband of Dean’s underwear down beneath his sac, tucking the elastic beneath the warm skin, baring his older brother’s cock and balls completely. Then he rolled the sensitive balls between his fingers. Holding the base of Dean’s shaft, he licked the underside like a lollipop. “I love how you taste. I love watching your cock get all wet for me.” 

“You have a thing for precome, Sammy?” Dean asked in a lust-filled, hoarse voice. 

Sam squeezed his fingers around Dean’s dick, milking another blurt of precome out of Dean’s cock. “Yours, yeah. God, so hot,” he murmured, and he put his mouth around the head again to slurp up the droplets threatening to fall. 

Gasping at the suction on the tip of his dick, Dean’s clutched at Sam’s hair and let his head fall back. “C’mon, Sammy. Suck it deep for me.” 

Sam grunted a negative response and tugged at Dean’s balls, fondling them more firmly. It was different with Sam than with all the girls he’d been with, Dean realized. Being a guy, Sam knew exactly what amount of pressure was good. Girls, he knew, were sometimes too gentle for fear of hurting him. Sam’s grip was firm, sure, and worked his balls exactly the right way to send pleasure zinging through him. He shivered when Sam’s fingers made another pass, massaging his balls as that tongue worked magic at his slit. 

Pleasure bloomed inside Sam when Dean shuddered under his touch. He was doing it right if Dean’s reaction was any indication. But he wanted to hear his brother make noise. There was nothing hotter than Dean’s noises when he came. He knew those sounds from so many years of eavesdropping on his brother’s masturbation sessions. 

“Want you to come for me just like this,” Sam told him, licking the head before delving into the slit again. 

Moaning, Dean said, “Need more, Sammy, c’mon. Wanna feel your mouth swallow it all.” 

“Uh-uh,” he answered softly. “Just like this. You can do it.” 

Dean groaned and watched as Sam’s tongue darted out again, wiggling into his slit until Dean gasped. When Sam lifted a finger to Dean’s lips, Dean didn’t hesitate. He sucked it into his hot mouth, mimicking what he so desperately wanted Sam to do with his cock. 

Sam withdrew his finger from Dean’s mouth and smoothed the wet fingertip all around the dripping head of his brother’s cock. When it was covered in precome and saliva, Sam snaked his hand beneath Dean’s underwear and snugged his wet fingertip against Dean’s puckered hole. 

Dean gasped in surprise but didn’t stop him, so Sam eased his fingertip inside Dean. Sam smiled when Dean groaned. He rolled Dean’s balls in his other hand again as his mouth covered the head of Dean’s dick again. He sucked in earnest this time, wanting to pull as much precome as possible out of his brother. 

“Jesus, Sammy,” panted Dean. “Yes, God, don’t stop.” 

The tip of Sam’s tongue pressed against the bundle of nerves beneath the head of Dean’s dick and Dean let out another whimper. Sam slid his finger inside Dean even further, wiggling it around to try and find the sensitive spot he thought would send his brother over the edge. Sucking, licking, and tonguing the crown of Dean’s dick fast and hard now, Sam curved his finger and pressed forward just slightly. 

Dean cried out and grabbed fistfuls of Sam’s hair. “Sammy, gonna come, oh, God.” 

Sam plunged the tip of his tongue into Dean’s slit as he pressed down on Dean’s prostate and Dean shouted. His entire body shook as the come jetted out of his cock in long, hard spurts. 

Sam sucked hard, not wanting to waste a drop. He kept massaging Dean’s prostate with his fingertip while his other hand squeezed and milked Dean’s shaft until the orgasm subsided. Dean tasted salty yet somehow sweet at the same time. It was a taste Sam wanted to sample again, and soon. 

When he got oversensitive, Dean gently eased Sam off of his dick. Sam withdrew his finger, and Dean fell onto the bed beside his brother. 

“Holy fucking shit,” Dean said in amazement, still trying to catch his breath. 

Sam smiled and pulled Dean against his right side. Dean rested his head against Sam’s chest until his heart rate returned to normal. 

Lifting his head, Dean looked into Sam’s hazel eyes. “Are you sure you never did that before?” 

Sam blushed crimson and Dean grinned at the deep flush that swept across his baby brother’s face and neck. “C’mon, Sammy, spill.” 

“I promise,” Sam answered with a grin. “You were my first.” 

Dean couldn’t help the swell of pride at knowing he was Sam’s first. “So…you never had sex with a guy either, then?” 

Sam reached up and lightly stroked Dean’s hair. “Nope.” 

Dean grinned. “I could change that.” 

Sam returned the smile and leaned forward to press a soft kiss to Dean’s full lips. “I’m counting on it.” 

Dean reached down between Sam’s legs and stroked the hardness there. “Let me take care of this.” 

Sam covered Dean’s hand with his own. “No, it’s okay. This was your turn.” 

“But – “ 

“I just want to sleep now. Really.” 

Dean studied Sam’s expression, and then decided to drop the subject. He started to pull his hand away, but Sam stopped him. “You can leave that there. I like feeling your hand on me.” 

Dean smiled and nodded. 

They lay there like that for a long while in silence. Sam reached down to re-adjust the covers over them both, and they settled into a peaceful sleep.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

 

“Let’s call Bobby to figure out what we need to do with those feathers,” Sam said to Dean the following morning as they were packing up to leave town. “I don’t want to accidentally do anything that might cause more problems.” 

“Good idea.” 

“I’ll feel better when they’re destroyed, though. I never want to hunt one of those bitches again.” 

“Damn straight.” Dean watched Sam out of the corner of his eye. His little brother seemed to be moving around easily enough this morning. “Stitches doin’ okay?” 

“Yeah, good.” 

A few minutes later, Dean’s phone rang. Sam watched as Dean picked up the call. 

“This is Agent Turner.” 

“Agent,” purred a female voice on the other end of the line. It wasn’t Bela, so Dean instantly tensed. Sam saw his posture change and cast a questioning look at his brother. 

“How can I help you?” he asked, when the female caller said nothing else. 

“This is Niki Tromos. We met at the Bourne Museum.” 

“Ahh, Ms. Tromos,” he replied, restating her name for Sam’s benefit. “I remember well. What can I do for you?” 

Sam’s eyebrows rose in surprise and he stopped packing to give his full attention to the conversation. 

“I’d like to meet you today to talk with you about the murders. I have some information that might help your investigation.” 

“I’m afraid that’s impossible. You see, my partner and I have been called out of town to follow some leads.” 

“Haven’t you heard?” 

“Heard what?” 

“Maxwell Morgan was killed last night.” 

“Uh, no, we hadn’t heard about that yet,” answered Dean, and he flicked his gaze to Sam. “I’m a little surprised you’ve heard about it if it just happened last night.” 

“I have all sorts of informants around town,” she told him. “But I sure would appreciate your insight about these cases.” 

“I’m sorry, but I’m leaving town this afternoon. Duty calls.” 

“But what about your duty here? We’re dealing with freak storms and a serial killer. People are scared to leave their homes for fear of having their eyes clawed out. Don’t you think you need to stay here and pursue the person responsible?” 

Dean looked at Sam with wide green eyes. Instantly Sam knew something was terribly wrong. 

“Uh, you know what? You’re absolutely right. I’ll get in touch with Detective Forrester and postpone my trip.”

“Thank you, Agent Turner. I really appreciate it. I know a great seafood place not far from the museum. Why don’t you let me pick you up tonight and take you? It’ll be my treat.” 

“Sounds good. We’re at the Sundown Motel. Room three.” 

“Oh, my God! That’s just across the street from where Max Morgan’s body was found!” 

“Is it?” 

“What a strange coincidence,” she remarked. 

Ignoring her comment, Dean asked, “How does seven o’clock sound?” 

“Perfect. See you then.” With that, she hung up. 

When Dean snapped his cell phone shut, he turned to Sam and exclaimed, “Son of a bitch!” 

“What?” 

“Niki Tromos just told me that people are afraid to leave their homes for fear of having their eyes clawed out.” 

Sam immediately realized what that meant. “How does she know about the eyes? Forrester said he didn’t tell any reporters about it.” 

“Exactly.” Dean rubbed his hand over his face in frustration. “Something ain’t right, Sammy. See what you can dig up on Niki Tromos. I’m calling Bobby to find out what we can do with those damn feathers to get rid of them for good.” 

Dean called Bobby while Sam went to work on his laptop. Dean took his time recounting the entire hunt in detail, including Morgan’s interference and subsequent death. 

When Dean finished the call, he announced, “Bobby said he thinks burning the feathers will be fine, but he wants to check a few things first to be sure.” 

Nodding, Sam said, “I couldn’t find a damn thing on Niki Tromos anywhere. No published articles, no police record, nothing.” 

“Damnit.” 

“Just wait, it gets better. I went back to the harpy lore and found this,” Sam continued, reciting from a website: “’Harpy legend varies by account, but it is generally believed that there were three sisters, and that at least one was killed in the river Tigris while they were chased by Calais and Zetes. The harpies had different names depending upon which account you read.’ And then the website lists the known names. Guess what the first name is?” 

“What?” 

“Nicothoe. Or maybe _Niki_ for short. So I Googled ‘Tromos’ and guess what? It’s the Greek word for ‘terror.’” 

“Ho-ly fuck. You’re saying Niki is another damn harpy?” 

Sam only nodded, his lips pursed in thought as he let the knowledge sink in and tried to work out a solution. 

“What the hell? Did the lore say anything about them being able to appear human?” 

“Nope. Nowhere.” 

“Well fuck you, too, Greek scholars!” Dean shouted in frustration, throwing up his hands. “Bastards!” Then: “That might’ve been good to know three days ago.” 

Sam nodded, and then let out a long, slow exhale. “Damnit. Why the hell didn’t I see this sooner? I knew the lore said there was more than one, that they were sisters. It just didn’t occur to me that there could be more than one still alive after all this time.” 

Dean walked over and laid his hand gently on Sam’s head. “Don’t beat yourself up. I didn’t think of it, either. We only saw the one when Miller was attacked, and it was the same one we just torched.” His fingers scritched into Sam’s hair lightly. 

Sam knew he’d be berating himself for a while. He sighed again. “Shit, Dean. We’re out of Greek Fire. What the hell do we do now? Call Bela again?” 

“Hell no! That bitch served us up to Morgan on a platter. I don’t know what her game was, but she nearly got you killed. She’d better never come within ten feet of me again.” 

Sam turned back to his laptop. “I’ll see what I can dig up.” 

Dean paced the room for a half-hour while Sam furiously pecked the keyboard on the laptop. He eventually picked up the helmet that was still full of ashes and turned to Sam. 

Just then, Sam looked up. “I might’ve found something.” 

Dean raised his eyebrows expectantly but said nothing. 

“There are foods that are deathly toxic to birds but have no adverse effect on humans. What if we find a way to poison her?” 

“Like what?” 

Sam turned back to his laptop and read from a list: “Avocado, apricots, onions, apple seeds, alcohol, caffeine, and dried beans.” 

Dean scoffed. “That’s the plan? Dried beans and avocado? Gotta say, I’m not impressed.” 

Sam shrugged. “Nothing in all the harpy lore I’ve read has anything else in there about how to kill them. It’s the only thing I can find that has a shot.” 

“Yeah, but harpies aren’t really birds.” 

“I know that. But they aren’t really humans either.” 

Dean sighed. “What the hell. It’s worth a shot. Maybe it’s like silver. It hurts monsters but not humans. I wonder if I can find a way to slip it to Niki in her food later?” 

“Not sure how else we’re gonna get it in her. Needles and tranq darts won’t pierce her skin.” 

“Do you think we should throw some of this harpy ash in there? No idea what will happen, but it couldn’t hurt,” suggested Dean, holding up the helmet filled with the ashes and talons. 

Sam considered that. He opened his mouth to speak when a brilliant flash from outside lit up their room for an instant, and a crackling boom broke the silence as a transformer blew. 

The boys turned to the window just as the door of the motel room splintered into pieces, raining down on them. Both of them threw their arms up in front of their eyes out of sheer instinct. Wind whistled and swirled all around them, immediately making it almost impossible to see. 

Niki Tromos, in her harpy form, flew into the room so fast that neither of the boys could see her moving. She punched Sam with her taloned feet, knocking him to the floor where he rolled a few feet away. Without slowing, she slammed into Dean, causing him to drop the helmet. It rolled away, ashes skittering away in the wind, some of them sticking into the shag carpet. 

Niki threw Dean against the far wall of the room. Before he even had a chance to drop to the floor, she wrapped one taloned hand around his throat and held Dean up against the wall. His feet dangled above the floor, and his vision swam from the lack of oxygen. Vaguely wondering why she hadn’t sliced him open, he stared into her furious eyes. Strangely, the air immediately surrounding them was completely still. He saw papers and debris careening around the room in the harsh winds further back, but here, right next to Niki, it was as if he were in the eye of the hurricane. 

“I want the feathers!” she screeched at him, her lips curled into a feral snarl. Dean noted with surprise that she looked essentially the same as when she’d been in human form, except for the earth-toned wings and feet. 

Sam clutched his stomach, finally able to draw breath again. Niki’s talons had scratched him, but he knew he’d been fortunate that she hadn’t disemboweled him in one fell swoop. He watched in horror as Niki’s talons tightened around Dean’s neck. Despairing, he frantically searched the room with his eyes. He saw nothing with the potential to even slow her down, much less kill her. Debris, clothing, and paper flew around the room in the wind, and his eyes were watering so badly he had a hard time seeing anything. The bedcovers sailed off the bed and were sucked out the door. 

Sam’s heart throbbed with terror and he tried desperately to regain control of himself. He crawled toward Niki, not sure what he would do, but knowing he had to try anything to make her let Dean go. He surged forward, pushing harder against the gale force. 

As he moved, his hand slid through some ashes that were stuck in the thick shag carpet. He scrabbled for purchase on the carpet, grasping at the carpet threads, something to hold that would give him better leverage against the wind. His fingers bumped into something cold and hard. The talons. He grabbed one of the dead harpy’s bronze talons in his hand and forced himself forward again. 

Dean saw Sam getting close. “We don’t have them!” he rasped in response to Niki’s demand for the feathers. Niki’s fingers clamped tighter around his neck as he spoke. Dean kicked out but she dodged his legs. He reached up to try and punch his thumbs through her eyes. _That’d be some karma_ _for the bitch_ , he thought. When he got close, though, she reared her head back and evaded his seeking fingers. He frantically tried to loosen her grip on his throat. Her fingers only tightened further. His vision began to dim. 

“You lie!” she screamed, and with her free hand she swiped at Dean’s midsection. It wasn’t an attack intended to kill. It was only a warning. Dean knew it, but it still hurt like a bitch. He grunted as the blood welled up from the shallow cuts. 

“Tell me where they are!” 

Now Sam was on his feet, though hunched over against the pounding wind. He was within striking distance. 

“No!” Dean shouted, seeing Sam lift the talon behind Niki’s back. 

Niki growled, thinking Dean was refusing to answer her question. She threw her free arm back to make another attack. This one, Dean was sure, would rip his insides right out of his body. He braced for the impact. 

At that moment, Sam finally got close enough so that he was inside the same calm eye as Niki and Dean. He drew back his arm and stabbed forward with all his strength, shouting, “Let go of him!” 

The bronze talon sank into Niki’s back and sliced Sam’s palm as he shoved it deep. Dean dropped like a stone to the floor when she released her grip on him. Shrieking, she whirled around. She howled in anger, futilely trying to reach behind her to withdraw the blade. Her wings flapped wildly and she tried to fly, but she was grounded by the wound. 

Sam’s mouth dropped open in complete shock as he watched her flail around the room. The winds abruptly stopped. Niki fell against the dresser, and then crumpled to the floor. 

“How did—“ she croaked, but she died before she could finish her question. 

Dean lay on the floor coughing, trying to regain his breath, just as stunned as Sam. 

“Boys!” yelled Bela as she rushed into the room. Taking in the horrific damage around the room, her mouth fell open. “Are you all right?” 

Sam leveled a venom-filled glare at her. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“The spirits told me there was a second harpy. I rushed over to tell you.” Bela then noticed Niki’s corpse. “Oh my God. How did you kill it?” 

“Fuck you,” Dean growled. 

Sam moved to Dean’s side, ignoring Bela for the moment. “Let me see,” he said softly. As he carefully lifted Dean’s shirt to inspect the cuts across his stomach, Sam realized his fingers were still shaking. The pain in his palm from the sharp edge of the bronze talon started to flare now that the adrenalin rush had subsided. 

Fortunately, he noted, Dean’s wounds were shallow enough to not need stitches, but they still bled. “Let me get the gauze and tape if I can find it in this mess,” he said. He stood up and looked around the room for his duffle bag.

“No, Sammy. We need to get the hell out of here before people show up asking questions.” Dean sat up and reached for Sam’s injured hand, inspecting it with a frown. “We’ll patch each other up later,” he promised. 

Sam reached for Dean with his uninjured hand and pulled his brother to his feet. They finally remembered Bela and turned to tell her to leave. She was already gone. 

“What the – “ Dean started, and then he grabbed the front of Sam’s shirt, eyes wide with alarm. “Where are the feathers and scroll?!” 

Sam frantically yanked open the dresser drawer, already dreading finding it empty. To his amazement, the airtight container was still there. “Oh my God. She didn’t steal it.” 

He held up the airtight tube for Dean to see. The feathers and scroll were still inside. 

“Well I’ll be damned.” 

“Whatever. Let’s be glad. You grab our gear, whatever you can still find. I’ll take care of the body,” suggested Sam. Tossing the tube to Dean, Sam reached for one of the harpy’s feet. 

Dean grabbed one of their duffle bags and began shoving clothes into it. Sam had dragged Niki’s corpse almost to the doorway when he suddenly stopped. 

“Goddamnit!” he exclaimed. 

“What?” 

Sam pointed to one of the wings on Niki’s body. “There are feathers missing!” 

Dean rushed over and looked down to where Sam pointed. Sure enough, there was a patch of bare skin where feathers used to be. “That bitch!”

“Why would she take the feathers if she doesn’t have the scroll for the spell?” asked Sam, brow furrowed. “That makes no sense.” 

Dean’s eyes widened as the answer dawned on him, and his mouth dropped open. “Where’s your phone?” 

The boys frantically searched the room, looking under furniture and all the clothing and papers strewn everywhere. The phone was nowhere to be found. 

“Goddamnit!” Sam exclaimed. He buried both hands in his hair and tried to calm himself. 

“How the hell did she know you—“ Dean started to ask, and then cursed under his breath. “That bastard Morgan told her! He was there when you took the pictures.” 

They both looked at each other, rolled their eyes in unison, and sighed heavily. 

* 

“Hello, Sterling?” Bela asked, talking into her cell phone. “It’s done. I told you I’d be able to get them for you.” She listened to the response, and then replied, “All right. I’ll meet you then.” 

Smiling, she ended the call and hit the accelerator.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

 

“Did you see the story in Maryland where – “ Sam flipped his hair back in mid-sentence and instantly forgot the rest of his question when he saw his brother splayed naked on the bed like an afternoon buffet. He grinned. 

“I wasn’t reading news,” Dean said with a smirk. 

“I, uh, can see that.” Sam walked to the edge of the bed and leaned down, bracing his arms on either side of Dean. “Whatcha been doin’?” he asked in a soft, coy voice, staring in admiration at Dean’s full, pouty lips before dropping a light kiss onto them. 

“Thinking.” 

“’Bout what?” Sam kissed Dean’s nose, then pressed his lips softly against his brother’s forehead. 

Dean chuckled. Even though he was the one blushing at the overt affection, he said, “You’re such a girl.” 

Sam just grinned down at him. “Tell me.” 

Dean reached over and unfastened the towel, letting it drop from Sam’s waist to the floor. “Get your ass on the bed and I’ll show you.” 

“Bossy,” Sam retorted playfully, but he did as Dean asked and stretched out beside him on the king bed. 

“Roll over.” 

Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean for just a moment before rolling to his stomach. 

Dean scooted himself down on the bed then, prodding Sam’s legs slightly apart. “Spread your legs for me.” 

Sam couldn’t stop the shiver that tripped down his spine at the husky command. He did as Dean said, spreading his long legs apart as far as he could. Dean settled himself comfortably between Sam’s legs. 

“Two weeks at Bobby’s was a long time,” he commented. He nudged Sam’s ass cheeks apart with both hands, pulling them wide and exposing the tender center. 

Sam’s cock filled immediately in response, his heart fluttering against his ribs. “Felt like forever,” he agreed. 

“I am never sleeping in the same bed with you again if we can’t have sex.” 

Sam let out a breathless laugh. The spare bedroom at Bobby’s had been stacked floor to ceiling with boxes of books, magazines, and other research material until Bobby could get the items all sorted. The boys had been relegated to the sleeper sofa in the family room. Hardly a place to fuck like rabbits, even though it had nearly killed him to keep his hands off of Dean. “Agreed.” 

“Wanted to do this every day.” And with that, Dean leaned forward and licked the dusky whorl between Sam’s cheeks with the flat of his tongue. 

“Oh my God,” Sam gasped, his fingers gripping the pillow under his head tightly as Dean’s tongue circled his entrance. 

It was slow and languid. Dean was obviously in no hurry, and Sam had a hard time getting enough air into his lungs. It was wet, and warm, and hot breath fanned his tender skin as the tip of Dean’s tongue played all around its target without entering it. 

“Jesus Christ,” whimpered Sam, thrusting back against Dean’s tongue. “Please, do it.” 

“Do what?” asked Dean, and he moved his tongue so that the tip was firmly against the hole and wiggled it. 

“Fucking Hell, De,” Sam choked, trying to suck in air. He shivered when Dean did it again, just the tiniest little tickle of his tongue against Sam’s hole. “Please fuck me with it, De. Need your tongue inside me. Please.” 

Sam spread his legs wider and arched his hips up. Dean had never seen anything so goddamned gorgeous in his life. He struggled to keep from blasting his load right then and there. Dean kissed the puckered entrance one more time before delving his tongue inside Sam as deep as he could get it. 

Sam cried out, surprised and overcome with sensation. Dean flicked his tongue up and down and then withdrew it, only to dive back in again. Panting, Sam tried not to bounce his hips. “God, De...don’t stop.” 

Dean kneaded the globes of Sam’s ass in his hands while his tongue worked back and forth, in and out. “Not gonna stop, Sammy.” He thrust his tongue deep again and curled it up and around. Sam keened. “Never gonna stop.” 

Sam wriggled beneath his brother, Dean’s tongue stabbing and circling and flicking mercilessly until Sam was panting like he’d run a marathon. Sam began bucking his hips with each thrust of Dean’s tongue, pushing his iron-hard cock into the mattress for some much-needed relief. 

“No, Sammy,” Dean murmured, giving Sam’s ass a light smack. “No humping the bed.” 

Sam whined and tried desperately to hold still as Dean’s tongue ravaged him again. He was mindless with the pleasure of it. The tip of Dean’s tongue circled and then barely penetrated him and then backed out again, over and over until Sam was writhing again. 

“Please, De. God, please.” 

“What do you need, Sammy?” asked Dean, plunging his tongue hard again and flicking it up and down deep inside his brother. 

Sam cried out, delirious now. “Need you inside me. God, please, need it so bad.” 

“I don’t know,” Dean teased. He pressed his tongue deep again and reached beneath Sam to hold his brother’s cock in his fingers. The slick of precome coated his hand when he gripped the thick shaft and squeezed. Sam groaned loudly and tried to buck into Dean’s hand. 

“So wet, Sammy. So fuckin’ wet for me. You like your big brother’s tongue in your ass?” 

Sam couldn’t even respond. Instead, he let out a half-sob, trying to decide if he should rock back onto Dean’s tongue or fuck forward into his brother’s strong fingers. 

The tip of Dean’s tongue wiggled in tantalizing circles around Sam’s pucker again, so Sam chased it, thrusting backward, trying to impale himself on it. 

“That’s it, Sammy. Fuck my tongue.” 

Dean held still, his tongue pushed out as far as it would go, stiff and pointed. Sam jerked backward against the hot muscle, forcing it inside him again. He whimpered loudly and did it again, pumping wildly against Dean’s face to push his brother’s hard, wet tongue deep inside, over and over. 

“Gonna…oh, God!“ Sam cried out. 

Dean grabbed the base of Sam’s dick, cutting off the orgasm. Sam shouted and sobbed an unintelligible protest. 

“Not till I’m inside you, Sammy,” Dean told him. He placed sloppy, warm kisses at Sam’s entrance again but didn’t use his tongue. After Sam stopped shuddering, Dean let go of his cock. 

“Tell me, Sammy. Tell me how bad you need it.” 

Sam gasped for a moment to collect himself, then replied in a low, ragged voice, “Gonna die if you don’t fuck me, De. Please, please…can’t stand it. Waited all my life for it. Please now, please no more waiting, please.”

Dean growled and sank his teeth into the flesh of one of Sam’s ass cheeks, leaving a bright pink mark. “Mine,” he grunted. 

Sam hummed agreement as Dean shifted and reached over to the nightstand to grab the bottle of lube there. 

“Want you to ride me, Sammy. Want to watch your face when you take my cock.” 

Sam shifted to his side and shuddered at Dean’s words, his cock jerking and pumping out another dollop of precome. Dean smiled down at his brother as his fingers spread the lube along his thick cock till it glistened. 

They shifted their positions until Dean was propped up against the headboard and Sam straddled his lap. Dean held his cock steady, lining it up with Sam’s entrance. 

“Slow, Sammy. Don’t want it to hurt you.” 

Sam kissed Dean hard, plunging his tongue into his brother’s mouth. He lowered himself slowly onto Dean’s thick, steely dick and let out a long groan. The mushroom tip spread his passage open, and he felt it nudge past the ring of muscle as the girth of Dean’s cock spread his ass wide, filling it full. It split him open and kept opening him up until he was fully seated, until there was nothing left to put inside. 

Sam sat for a moment, catching his breath. His emotions were all over the place. He felt like some hormonal teenager, with his brain sending overwhelming signals to whimper, cry, buck, and scream all at once. Clutching at Dean’s shoulders, he struggled to take a deep breath. 

Dean’s hands were in Sam’s hair instantly. “Sammy? You all right?” 

Sam could only nod. He was raw, wrecked. Dean was hot inside him, fully inside him. His big brother’s cock kissed him in all his secret places, wringing a visceral reaction from every nerve ending in his body. 

Sam held Dean’s face in his hands and rested his forehead against Dean’s, not wanting to move, not wanting this moment to end. He desperately wanted to remember this for the rest of his life—the intoxicating scent of Dean’s warm skin, the smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks, the wet sheen of his plump lips, the thick, sooty eyelashes framing eyes that glittered impossibly green in the afternoon light of the motel room. Sam ran his hands over the short, soft locks of Dean’s hair, committing the feel of it to memory along with all the rest. 

Dean pushed forward just slightly to press his lips against Sam’s and whispered, “Feel so good, Sammy. Always knew you’d feel so damn perfect.” 

That was it. Sam couldn’t hold still any more. He lifted himself up until only the ridged tip played at his rim, and then sank down hard again, almost vicious, wanting Dean’s dick to split him wide open. He rocked up and down until sweat glistened on his neck. Dean thrust upward every time Sam rocked down, skin slapping hard and fast with each pump of their hips. Sam pushed down hard, grinding his hips in a circular motion so he could feel Dean’s cock throb and press against all the most sensitive spots inside him. 

“Jesus Christ, Sammy,” Dean gasped after one of Sam’s more fervent moves. “Gonna come inside you so hard. Want to fill you up.” 

“Do it,” Sam urged, grinding hard again. “Pump me full of your come.” 

Dean lifted his hips off the bed, arching, pressing up to get as deep into his brother as possible. “Come for me, Sam. Milk it out of me.” He grabbed Sam’s cock and gave it a rough pull, then another, then a third one where he used his short fingernails on the sensitive, wet crown. 

Sam keened loudly, threw his head back, and shot white and hot all over Dean’s chest and stomach. Sam’s body clutched and squeezed his cock, bringing Dean over the precipice immediately after Sam. 

Sam fell against Dean’s chest, his head resting on Dean’s shoulder. Both boys tried desperately to get their breathing back to normal. 

After a few seconds, Dean brought his arms up to hug Sam tighter against him. 

“That was…” Dean’s brain couldn’t process a word good enough to use. 

Sam nodded against Dean’s neck and shoulder. “Mmm. It was.” 

“Don’t wanna ever move again.” 

“Me either. Want you inside me forever.” Sam’s voice was gravelly from exertion. His hair was deliciously tousled. Sweat gleamed on the hard planes of his skin. He lay limply against Dean with Dean’s softening dick still buried deep inside him. 

He sounded and looked completely debauched. Dean’s cock twitched in appreciation. 

Dean stroked Sam’s hair. “Forever. I like the sound of that.” 

Sam dropped a soft kiss onto his brother’s warm neck. “I love you.” 

Dean squeezed his arms tighter around his brother. “I love you too, Sammy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fun facts about the story:
> 
> There really is a Buzzards Bay, MA. It was a town name suggested by the brilliant LightTheSparks. Given the nature of the case, we both found it amusing to set the story in that town. I’ve never been there, but I did quite a lot of Googling about it before I started this story. There is a museum there, although it is actually a maritime museum that I turned into a different sort for my own purposes. The restaurants mentioned in the story are actual restaurants that exist in that town (or nearby). There also really is a Flagship Cinemas in Wareham, MA.
> 
> The Sundown Motel mentioned in the story is based off of an actual motel in Buzzard’s Bay called The Herring Run Motel. There really is a park right across the street, and the Seafood Shanty really is right next door to it. I encourage you to Google images of the motel, as it reminds me of a motel that the boys would definitely choose while working a case.
> 
> I took some liberties with the décor of the motel room which is not exactly as my lovely artist drew it. I also included the iconic starburst clock, which is not in the actual art. I hope she will forgive me. ;)
> 
> I’m not a medical examiner. I’m not a detective. I’m not an expert on carbon dating. I’m not a motorcyclist. But…I do have Google. ;) If you are a professional in any of these fields, I welcome you to point out any egregious mistakes I made in the story.
> 
> As a complete and utter lark on my part, I used some of Jared’s and Jensen’s past film and TV characters’ names for all of my secondary male characters in this story. I hope you got a kick out of them when you ran across them. The character of Wade Forrester is actually a combination of Jared’s character Wade from House of Wax and his character Dean Forrester from Gilmore Girls. I didn’t want to use the name Dean Forrester because I didn’t want there to be any other Dean except Dean Winchester in my story. Tristan Ross is also not a past character of Jared’s or Jensen’s. I’m sure you can all figure out how I came up with that name. ;) 
> 
> I sincerely hope you enjoyed this story. I welcome any comments, suggestions, or constructive criticism.


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